Artful Maneuvers
by planetblue
Summary: I needed to figure out who Edward Cullen was before he figured out me.
1. Chapter 1

_**All fun. Zero bloodshed.**_

* * *

Chapter 1

Early morning in the gallery is my favorite time of day. The sunlight breaks through the large windows in the front, casting rays and warming the white walls as I sip my latte in solitude, the only sound the echo of my heels on the shiny, hardwood floor as I walk amongst the art that hangs on those white walls. I move around the mobile partitions and columns that are interchangeable depending on what the current exhibition calls for, admiring the colors and lines while enjoying the quiet, which will soon be interrupted by Riley.

As if on cue, the sound of the bell rings out from the front entrance. Walking to the door, I see Riley waiting outside, about to push the bell again. "Morning, boss!" he says enthusiastically, sliding past me and striding towards the employee area to put away his things.

"Say it isn't so! You're on time!" I call after him as I flip on the overhead lighting, signaling that my alone time is over and the gallery is officially open for the day.

"I'm offended," his protest echoes across the room as he feigns hurt. "When have I ever been late?"

I grin. "Let's see, last week, the week before that..." Rose and I don't really begrudge any of the staff fifteen minutes here or there, so he just shakes his head, not taking me seriously and uses his key card to enter the offices.

As the gallery owner, Rose runs a tight ship and can be very demanding when it's called for, but she also prefers to evade the air of stuffiness many other galleries in the River North area of Chicago have, keeping it friendly and casual for visitors and employees alike. The goal is to make sure everyone feels that the art can be accessible, while having fun and promoting a creative atmosphere at the same time.

I circle the two airy rooms for a quick, last minute inspection and head back to the front. Riley walks towards me a few moments later, buttoning the cuffs of his crisp, white shirt. "You know, you really should come out one Thursday or Friday. I promise to show you a good time."

"Grinding with you and your boyfriend in a sweatbox full of men that don't have any interest in my girl parts?" I laugh and shake my head, putting my cup down on the small desk that serves as the reception area and information center to boot up the computer "Pass."

The screen comes to life just as Sam, our security guard, says hello and settles in across from us at his post closer to the door. Riley sighs dramatically behind me. "You know, if you don't get laid soon you'll start turning into, oh I don't know… a crazy cat lady."

"She doesn't wear glasses or ugly, baggy sweaters with tissues sticking out," Sam volunteers, countering Riley's evaluation of me.

"Point well made, my good man. I suppose she'd be considered hot, dresses sexy most of the time… tight skirts, high heels…" I turn to face him, striking my best pin-up pose, as Riley looks me up and down and applauds.

"I'm so glad you approve." I roll my eyes at him.

He adjusts the thick black frames of his hipster glasses and clears his throat. "If it wasn't for the fact that I like dick I'd…"

Sam groans just as I cut Riley off from furthering that thought. "Thank you both for the compliments, but let's start our day, shall we?"

Sam agrees emphatically, thankful I stopped Riley from continuing his statement, and starts to fill out his morning log sheet, while Riley moves off to gather the measuring tape and notepad we'll need for finalizing the next exhibit's floor plan.

He returns with his tools in hand just as Jessica, one of the summer interns from the Weinberg Arts program at Northwestern appears. I leave her to the meet and greet and follow Riley as he measures and I jot down notes, making final preparations for Rose's latest acquisition. We'll be working all weekend to have the gallery ready for ten pieces on loan from Berlin, a collection from the reclusive art lover, the late Roland Vogt. I'm practically vibrating with excitement; it's been four long months since Rose reached an agreement with his estate to host the collection for a month. The shipment arrived three weeks ago for inspection and inventory and is being held in the climate-controlled storeroom. But now, now it's almost time to get them on the walls.

Obtaining exhibits such as these provide a few benefits for the gallery. Even though the pieces are not 'sellable' art, the donation we ask visitors to give or the fundraisers we host when these exhibits come through go to the Chicago Park District Culture and Arts programs, while the publicity the gallery gets attracts high end buyers for the art we do sell. Most of the rare art we host is on loan from other museums, but sometimes, like this next exhibit, estates or self-contained collectors generously donate a select number from their private assemblies.

It also provides students from the nearby universities the chance to view and sketch artists they may have studied, while offering people of all ages and financial backgrounds that may be unable to travel the chance to say they've seen a magnificent painting with their own eyes. I still get a thrill from it; there's nothing quite like being in the presence of a priceless work of art.

I'm absentmindedly thinking about the large load of paperwork currently sitting on my desk that I need to finalize for Rose, and what we have lined up for the next few months, when I hear Riley bark my name. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

I refocus and find him staring at me, tape measure pulled and charting the length of a partition. He's obviously waiting on me to write down the numbers he just called out. "Please tell me your mind just went to some hot guy you fucked last night?"

I narrow my eyes. "Classy, Riley… but no. Hate to bore you, but it was on work."

"It's always about 'work' with you. You know, I have a few straight friends you might like," he offers for the hundredth time, and I shoot the idea of a fix-up down for the hundredth time. He sighs, and shakes his faux-mohawk head at me. "Why don't you at least just pick up a dude sometime, have a one-night stand with some stranger. You know, get the juices flowing." His eyes waggle behind his glasses while I contain a laugh.

"Because I'm not desperate." I make a new column on the paper, getting ready for the info I missed. "Besides, how do you know I'm not sleeping with someone?"

I look up to see Riley staring at me, a doubtful expression on his face. I don't feel the need to share with Riley that I have picked up my fair share of men when necessary, and currently have 'a someone' I see when the need arrives, so I just shrug. "Okay, the next guy that walks in, I'll take into the back office and have my way with." I point my notepad towards the measuring tape in his hand to get him back on the task at hand. "Now, repeat, please."

Riley complies, and tells me the numbers I missed before moving on to the next wall. The small talk ceases, and we get down to business, double and triple checking our numbers.

"Welcome." We hear Jess say a while later, causing Riley and I to glance at each other quickly, eyes wide, before we both turn to look at the gallery entrance.

"Fuck," I laugh quietly, as I see an old man with a cane, blowing his nose in a hanky before stuffing it back in his pocket and taking the pamphlet Jessica hands him.

"Um, yes, that is what you agreed to." My hand flies out and snaps the notepad against his arm. "But he seems like maybe more of a 'relationship' kind of fellow. Not sure he's got any working parts."

"I'm not interested in that either," I look at him pointedly before ordering him to get the ladder and start measuring the lighting.

It's not that I wouldn't be able to find someone to have a relationship with if I wanted one. There's been a few men I've dated lately that have expressed their desire for 'more'. I just don't feel the oppressive need to be part of a couple. I have enough responsibility and things to worry about in my life without having to work a romance into the mix.

A man would just get in my way.

* * *

The month for the Vogt collection is quickly drawing to a close, and I'm both sad and anxious for it to leave. Rose has successfully finalized the next arrival, but that collection isn't scheduled to come for another two months, so in the meantime we'll be highlighting a series of local artists along with a few student shows from the nearby colleges. It's always nice to have the money coming in, and I'm happy to support current artists as well as students, but it's not as exciting as our exotic exhibits. So tomorrow, Riley and I will begin the process of removing these pieces and getting them in their crates, ready to transport to the next location or return to the Vogt estate until they are scheduled elsewhere.

Around four o'clock, we all decide we need a Starbucks boost. I jot down the orders at the reception desk for Jess to retrieve and hear the glass doors open behind me. On instinct, Jess and I glance up to greet whoever has entered, and see a large man in sunglasses with dark hair and a black suit standing in the doorway, looking around before turning to speak to Sam. Sam points towards me, and the man strides across the floor and takes off his shades as he approaches.

"Ma'am," he says and nods his head. "I understand you are in charge here?" he asks brusquely and I tense a bit, unsure what his business might be.

"I'm the gallery manager, Isabella Swan. Rosalie Hale is the owner and director, but she's not here at the moment. What can I do for you?" I extend my hand, but the large man in front of me doesn't even look down, much less return my greeting.

"My employer would very much like to visit the gallery this evening, but he is unable to arrive until after hours. Would you be kind enough to keep your establishment open until nine o'clock? He would be arriving at approximately eight thirty."

"Who is your employer?" I ask, taking back my ignored hand and folding my arms in front of me.

"He's someone that prefers to view his art alone," he says, a small hint of amusement in his blue eyes. Before I can give an answer, he continues. "I can assure you that if he appreciates your gallery here," he nods towards the space, "and the hospitality, he'll be most generous to your business in the future for accommodating him. I would strongly advise you to do so."

The gallery has been kept open after hours for benefactors and customers before, those on tight schedules or requesting privacy. We've even opened it on a Monday once for a man that met his girlfriend here so he could propose. But something about the way this guy is asking rubs me wrong, almost like I'm not being asked at all.

"Can I at least get his name?" I ask, somewhat sharply.

"Edward Cullen," the man replies after a slight hesitation and I search my memory for anyone in the art world that I might've heard of or met that matches the name. Nothing comes to mind, but I'm not stupid, everything about this request screams money, and a new, wealthy customer is never something to turn down.

"I suppose that would be all right. Ms. Hale will gladly welcome him at eight thirty." I answer for her, as she always makes time for lucrative possibilities. This time, the man extends his hand with a smile on his face that shows two dimples, making him appear a bit friendlier but not making him any less intimidating.

"Mr. Cullen will be delighted. Thank you." He releases my hand and turns on his heel, and as I watch him go, I notice a secret service type wire behind his right ear. Turning back to Jess, I open my mouth, but she beats me to the punch.

"Just checked. Not many hits when you google Edward Cullen. His name pops up on a foundation, but there's little else, unless he's an acne prone Halo champion from Ohio." She scrunches her eyes and stares at the computer screen for a few moments, while I wait. I have to smile at her curiosity. She's doing exactly what I was about to ask her to do when I turned. "He's probably an old guy, if he's like, on a foundation and stuff," Jess volunteers with a shrug, and I nod, agreeing.

"Hmm. Well, I suppose you'll meet the gentleman when he arrives." I tap on the desk and tell Jess I'll go for the coffee, wanting to get outside for a bit. Reaching the outdoors, I feel the warmth of the day hit me and sigh deeply, the heat of the sun tickling my skin and reminding me it's summer. I inhale slowly, and dream about getting away for an actual vacation sometime. I can't remember the last time I had one.

The glare of a mirror catches me in the eye and I watch as a shiny, black Mercedes pulls away from the curb in front of me, the man with the curly black hair occupying the driver's seat. I think nothing else of it as I walk across the plaza to get to the coffee shop, my mind on what the rest of my day contains.

* * *

When I tell Rosalie about our strange visitor, she asks me if I can stay because she has her bi-monthly dinner with her father, whom she lovingly refers to as 'the sperm donor'. I agree readily, as I have no other plans for the evening. I peruse the brochure of the exhibit again even though I have it practically memorized, so I'm able to answer any questions our esteemed visitor may have.

Once the gallery is closed for the evening to the general public, I'm taking one last look at my favorite piece of the exhibit, _The Embrace_, and contemplating toeing a stiletto off when I hear Jess greet someone. I don't worry about rushing to say hello, figuring I'd give him a moment to enjoy the art in solitude. Slow footsteps circle the way the layout forces you to move, viewing each piece in the order we've designed, leading to the conclusion. The footsteps pause for a moment, signaling that Mr. Cullen is taking in whichever painting lays before him.

I look at my watch, a simple silver cheap thing with a blue face, a gift from my working class parents upon my high school graduation eight years earlier. I wear it faithfully every day, in memory of the last occasion we were together. The time reads 8:45, and I roll my eyes at the late arrival of the inconsiderate Mr. Cullen, which will surely cause me to be here later than the proposed nine o'clock.

Footsteps sound again but this time, they're the quick scurry of Jess's ballet flats, hurrying across the floor to ask me if she can go because she has a date.

"Yes, of course, I'll close up. Go have fun." I smile as I watch her ponytail bounce behind her in her haste to get out; her job probably already out of her mind and on whomever the guy is that's making her so excited.

I fleetingly think about calling the guy I'm sleeping with once I'm done here, to have him satiate my need to get violated properly. It's been a while, but I quickly decide against it. He's begun to get a little clingy the last few times I've spent time with him. Sweet lovemaking and requests to stay the night have become more frequent, and that is one complication in my already hectic lifestyle that I do not need. It was the perfect arrangement, no expectations, no having to explain my whereabouts when on short business trips for Rose, but now he's hinting at more. I sigh, knowing he'll have to be let down not so gently, and soon. Despite knowing I have to end this latest arrangement, I begin to feel slightly aroused thinking of our last encounter. I find myself lost in thought, my hand lightly stroking down my throat to the V in my wrap dress. Well maybe I'll call him one last time… .

In my periphery, I see the visitor turning the corner about twenty feet away. I shake off my thoughts, trying to refocus. When my eyes register what I'm looking at, the sight before me catches me off guard, and bears no resemblance to the idea I had conjured of who our elderly patron would be.

This Mr. Cullen is no old man.

I chew my lip a bit, watching him as he views a painting. He's tall, slim, but not scrawny, and holy hell, the man can wear a suit. Navy and perfectly tailored. His hair is shiny and reddish brown, but somewhat chaotic, a sharp contrast to the neatness of his clothing. I'm still dangerously close to massaging my cleavage, as I look him up and down, letting my fingers play over my skin. With the white wall to his right framing him, he could be a piece of art himself.

"Excuse me," his deep voice startles me, as I hadn't realized he'd turned my way. He walks towards me slowly, almost lazily, and I can't help but skim his appearance as he approaches, taking in the burgundy-striped tie that matches the silk square in his breast pocket perfectly. My eyes finally lift to his face, and I inhale silently.

His stare holds a hint of impatience as he concentrates on me, waiting for me to answer, but I can't help but hesitate when I take in the striking, unusual nature of his eyes. The art lover in me quickly equates the color in the left with the blue of the sky in Monet's _Garden at Sainte-Adresse_, while the right is the exact shade of green in Monet's _Water Lilies_.

"I'm sorry, I was…" Ogling. I realize I'm still moving my fingers up and down my throat, so I just trail off and quickly clasp my hands together in front of me, his eyes following the path they make. "Welcome to the Hale Gallery. What can I help you with, sir?"

His gaze moves back to my own, and he narrows his eyes minutely. "I'm in town for just a short amount of time, and a colleague mentioned you had _The Embrace_ on loan to show. I was hoping to get a look at it." My blood betrays me, heating under my skin as his voice melts into my ears, his speech containing a slight lilt of an accent I can't quite make out. I seem unable to resist the appeal of this stranger standing in front of me; I've never seen anyone so… striking in person. My eyes travel across his face, his features captivating me until they land on his mouth, where one side is turning up at the corner. I stare at it as his lips part, his voice deepening. "I do realize you stayed open for me and I'm tardy. I apologize," he says smoothly, and I find myself enjoying the movement of Edward Cullen's slightly scruffy, chiseled to perfection, sinfully lick-able jaw.

When I glance at his face again after he's finished speaking, there's a hint of conceit in his eyes, his smirk firmly back in place, and I realize he's watching me explore him. The smug look I'm seeing tells me he's entirely too familiar with this reaction from women.

Busted and slightly annoyed that he seems to be amused by me, I meet his gaze and regain my lack of composure once I comprehend what he's asked to see. "We do, right this way. It's a beautiful piece, one of my favorites, actually, of this entire collection."

My whole body is aware of his presence behind me so I walk confidently across the gallery floor to where the painting in question is displayed, moving to the left of the canvas so I don't obscure his view. I see he hasn't followed me; he's still standing where we were as he observes the painting, his eyes intent on the piece twenty feet away from him. I try to guess how old he is, he's older than my twenty-six years most definitely, but I can't pinpoint it exactly. Slowly, and without looking my way, he begins to walk until he's standing directly in front of Egon Schiele's expressionist painting of romantic love.

"Amazing," he says, his dissimilar eyes probing as they dart from corner to corner, and hit on various points of the piece. I watch as he skims the soulful definition in the woman's naked body, wrapped around her lover.

"Yes, it really is. Are you familiar with Schiele's work?"

"I am," he answers shortly, preoccupied and focused on the art in front of him. "Beautiful. Just beautiful." I nod in agreement, appreciating the piece even more. I let the silence swallow us as he continues looking. The subject matter of the painting combined with the presence of this man does nothing to curb my aroused state.

"The brushstrokes are flawlessly defined. It's so vivid, but aged perfectly. The colors are extraordinary." He walks even closer to it, seemingly enraptured.

"I agree. The owners have kept it preserved wonderfully. We have _The Scornful Woman_ here as well, if you'd like to see it?" I try to encourage him towards the other paintings.

"In a minute," his curt tone makes me pause. "Tell me," he stands back a step and places one hand in his pants pocket, fiddling idly with something within. "When did you acquire this piece?"

I turn back to look at the medium sized canvas. "We've had it on exhibit for a month, three weeks prior, the shipment arrived for inventory. But Ms. Hale has been working on brokering this donation for over four months before that," I say, pride evident in my voice.

"I see. So you are not Ms. Hale?"

"No, sir." I look back at the painting; slightly miffed that he may be disappointed he's not meeting the owner. I look up and find him staring at me.

"Did you play a hand in getting it to the states from Berlin? It's quite the accomplishment." My skin starts to burn as his eyes rake over my blue dress, all the way to my heels and back to my face. It's not a lecherous look, like a creep gives a woman while he's envisioning her naked, but more of a keen interest, or study. Like he's trying to assess me. It makes me slightly uncomfortable but blisters me all at the same time.

I swallow under his scrutiny. "I played a small part. The less exciting paperwork part." I smile. "You're right about it being quite the coup. I assume since you know where it came from, you are familiar with the estate of who owned it?" He nods, looking back at the painting. "You must know how particular they are about who they lend to then. Ms. Hale is very proud of this acquisition."

"Yes, I'm sure she is," he hums, his interest in me waning as he returns to the painting.

"Would you like to see the others now?" I start walking again in the direction where _The Scornful Woman_ hangs, leading the way with a wave of my hand.

He pulls his arm up to look at his watch, noticeably more expensive than the one on my wrist. "I have to go. Perhaps I'll catch the rest if they loan them out again." He begins walking quickly towards the doors, and I just stare after him, startled by his abruptness and lack of gratitude for keeping the gallery open for him to look at one piece.

Just as he's reached the doors, I find my voice and call out to him, sickly sweet and slightly sarcastic. "So glad we could accommodate you this evening, sir. Have a nice night."

I swallow when he pauses with one hand on the door and looks back my way. Shit. I'm not usually so unprofessional, but he irked me.

Circling back to me slowly, his distracted demeanor has changed slightly. His head is cocked to the side and those blue and green eyes are firmly fixed on mine, all of his interest zeroed in as he steps within inches of me. My heart rate escalates in my chest from a mixture of fear at the way I just spoke to him and nervous tension at his sudden nearness. He reaches into his suit and pulls a silver card case from the inside breast pocket. "You seem annoyed. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. How rude of me." He holds out a card and my eyes widen when I see his hand covered in ink. I stare at the tattoo, not reaching for the card, a little stunned. That is not something I expected to see, and I have to admit I'm instantly attracted. "Edward Cullen," he says, a rough, throaty tinge to his voice. "And you are…?"

I snap to attention. "Isabella Swan, sir." I reach over the desk and grab my own card, which lays in my hand dully as he makes no move to take mine either. We stand there waiting for the other to make a move in a bizarre showdown that makes me slightly unsteady in anticipation, while he smirks, expecting me to fold. His expression begins to make me feel slightly playful, so I cock an eyebrow at him in return, and in a moment of boldness, take my card and place it inside the pocket on his chest, right behind that piece of burgundy silk.

His uncommon eyes are piercing, but somewhat devious, and I watch as this fairly rude man I've known for five minutes takes his card and slowly sticks it in the neckline of my dress, right at the top swell of my breast. I may have been a bit daring with my action, but his is downright arrogant.

I think I like it.

I fight the urge to remove the card and look at it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's intimidated me. He breaks our gaze first and looks around the space once more. "Nice place you have here." He nods at the room, and with a brief smile and glance at my figure, Edward Cullen turns and leaves. I stare after him and see the man from earlier that day move stealthily from the shadows outside of the building, quickly stepping in front of Mr. Cullen. The large man opens the door to what looks like a very expensive, black car and waits for Mr. Cullen to enter, but this time instead of driving, he quickly follows behind him to sit in the backseat. There is a blond man behind the wheel, and the car drives off as soon as the door has closed. I find myself watching the now empty space the car just left, in slight disbelief.

I take the card from my dress and finally look at it. There isn't much to it, just the initials 'EC' in raised black lettering on the front of the thick, gray card. I turn it over in my hand, looking at the blank space on the back.

There's no title, no email address, and no phone number.

Raising it to my mouth with a shiver, I tap the card against my lips and smile; titillated by the overconfident Mr. Cullen, regardless of the apprehension creeping up my spine.

Walking to the back office, I pick up my cell to call Rose. She answers on the third ring, the din of the restaurant loud in the background.

"Sorry to bother you, Rose, but we may have a problem."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Consequence of Miracles** **by Travis Birkenstock (I have never been so affected by a story in my life. I still can't discuss it. I couldn't write for weeks.)**

Sometimes, the miracles we plead for come at a terrible price. AH, dark subject matter.

* * *

**Thanks to all of you for opening this up and giving it a go. As usual, it's completely written and edited, so posting will be my typical Monday and Thursday. Oh and one extra disclaimer this time: there will be absolutely no mention of birth control or testing. They are clean and protected, so let's just get that out of the way! :p**

**Big thanks and love go to my awesomely talented beta, Carrie ZM. She's more than a beta; she's the other half of me, and not a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars that the universe sent her my way. All mistakes are my fault, because I can never leave anything alone, and she did not beta this a/n either (yikes). **

**Thanks as well to the lovely LayAtHomeMom for hours of laughs, but also for once again taking on the task of pre-reading this, regardless of the fact she's posting her own story, Girl Code (check it out!). **

**Thanks to Lolypop82 for the banner - as usual, she understood exactly what I wanted and delivered more than I could've hoped for. **

**And last but not least, t****hanks to Nic, Kim, and the lovely ladies at TLS for the Saturday Sneak Peek they included this story in this past week, I'll bet some of you are here because of them, and I'm so very grateful. **

**xoxo PB**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Shifting the bag of Chinese takeout and bottle of wine, I slide open the accordion style elevator door, the old metal cage rattling and groaning in protest. My heels scrape on the cement flooring of the loft as I hurry to the large island in the middle of the kitchen area to put the bags down before I drop them. The butcher-block counter is littered with paper, camera equipment, and art books, so I have to shove them gently out of the way without toppling everything to the floor.

"Oh thank fucking God. I'm so hungry."

"Nice to see you too, Alice," I laugh as she gets up to stretch, the audible cracking of her back ringing out followed by a loud moan. "How long have you been at it today?"

"Six hours. This is the first break I've taken. I get caught up with it." Rose's longtime friend and former college roommate shrugs and walks from the easel, sliding the powerful magnifying glasses to the top of her head. Rubbing her eyes, she makes her way to me and starts pulling the food out.

I slip out of my shoes, the cold floor feeling good against my tired feet. Walking to her workspace, I stand under the bright floor lamps and crane my neck to look at what she's been working on. "This is a good start." I view the snapshots stuck to the frame of the easel, my eyes moving back and forth from photo to painting.

"When iv it awiving?" Alice asks around a mouthful of food, and I realize I'm famished myself, so I join her where she's eating, standing at the counter, and pull out my own food.

"Should be here in about two months. Plenty of time, right?" I move to the seating area, propping my feet up on the coffee table, as Alice hums in agreement and joins me. We eat in silence for a few minutes, both of us feeding ourselves with chopsticks directly from the cartons.

"I thought you brought me wine."

"Right! I did." I jump up and grab the bottle, three glasses, and an opener, putting them on the table in front of me and I start to open the Merlot.

"Oh, the large bottle, hmm? And three glasses? I take it Rose is on her way?"

"Yes. I had an… interesting visit tonight."

Alice looks at me wide-eyed, and I hand her a glass. "Nothing to worry about, I'm sure, let's wait until Rose gets here."

We continue to eat and make small talk, until we hear the elevator getting called to the first floor, signaling that Rose has arrived. We wait for the slow ascent to bring our friend up and she exits the lift, her crisp suit still immaculate even after a long day.

"How was dinner?" Alice asks, while Rose pours herself a glass of wine.

"Oh the usual, the semen contributor could care less about me, only talking about himself while Mommy number four is younger than me and has as much brain function as that noodle," she says, pointing to Alice's dinner. She takes a swig of wine and swallows, training her gaze on me. "So?"

I put my carton down on the table and pick up my own glass. "Well, you know we had that private showing tonight."

Rose nods. "And?"

My mouth turns down, remembering his perusal of the painting. "He seemed very taken with one painting in particular." Rose lifts one brow, waiting for me to elaborate. "He made some interesting comments about it, about the brushstrokes, aging, and color. Normally, I'd assume he was just an art fan, appreciating the work of a master."

"But?" Rose asks, coaxing me to continue while looking at Alice, who is looking apprehensively at me.

"It was the only piece he was interested in seeing. There's an entire, rarely seen collection by Egon Schiele not ten feet away, and he couldn't be bothered with any of it."

I get up to retrieve his card from my purse. The memory of him placing it in my dress makes my skin flush, but I quickly hide the effect he had on me before returning to the table. I hold it out to Rose, who looks at it with Alice scooting over to look at it as well.

"Well that's interesting, I suppose." Rose flips the card over just as I did, looking for more information. "But is it something to worry about?" she states, not really asking.

"Honestly? My initial reaction was that he didn't realize the painting was a fake." I take the card back, my thumb tracing over the black lettering, recalling his tattooed knuckles as he held it out to me. I don't share this tidbit. For some reason, I want to keep my attraction to myself.

Rose narrows her eyes, her tongue peeking out to lick the rim of her glass. "I'll ask the jizz supplier if he's ever heard of him." I choke, always amused by Rose's colorful names for her father.

"Does this mean I should stop?" Alice asks, her arm raising up towards the easel across the room and dropping it back in her lap. I can tell she's more worried than Rose or I am. I suppose she'd be considered the guiltiest of the three if we were to ever be caught.

Rose shakes her head. "No, keep going. There's no reason to panic until we know there's something to panic about. It's not like his card says FBI on it."

Alice nods, and takes a large gulp of wine before refilling her glass.

* * *

Rose finds me the next afternoon twirling idly in my chair, looking at the card that has not changed in the last eighteen hours, no matter how hard I stare at it.

She drops her briefcase on her desk. "No go, dear old dad has never heard of him."

"Rules out ARCA. I suppose that's good, one possibility down."

"Indeed."

I nod, my mind already moving on to other thoughts. Specifically, to the just-got-fucked bed hair of the man in question. I've found myself many times this morning thinking about various parts of our meeting, analyzing and deciphering his mannerisms as he looked at the painting. But now, I'm just thinking about _him_ in general.

Caroline, the intern assigned to organize our filing today asks what ARCA is. She's majoring in art history and is very interested in pursuing a degree in curatorship. She follows Rose around like a puppy, asking questions about everything, but I suppose that's what she's here to do. It's a good reminder for Rose and me not to talk about anything here that wouldn't come up in normal business conversation.

Rose looks slightly annoyed at her intrusion but answers nicely. "The Association for Research into Crimes against Art. My father is one of the founders."

Caroline asks a few follow-up questions, and Rose explains about the objectives of the association, and their postgraduate certificate program dedicated to raising the profile of art forgery, vandalism, and theft. Rose fishes around in her desk for a brochure; it's too late for Caroline to go this year as the program is held from June to August in Italy, but Rose encourages her to look into it for next year. Despite the lack of love she feels for her father, she knows it's a worthwhile program for students, even though she's basically giving it the finger on a daily basis.

"All packed up?" Rose asks me after a minute as she checks her email on the computer and dials her cell phone simultaneously.

"Yes, Riley just finished up with the security and transport team, and they signed off."

"Excellent."

The benefit of working with estate heads and lawyers instead of individual collectors is the often lack of art knowledge or interest that they possess. I don't foresee an issue arising with _The Embrace_.

We sit in silence for a bit, Rose's nails tapping against her keyboard while she waits to speak to someone at Weinberg College about final preparations for the student show opening tomorrow.

As soon as Caroline finishes up and I give her another task out on the floor, I go to the mini fridge in our office and pull out the Perrier Jouet split we've been holding for a month, opening it quietly. Pouring two glasses, I place one in front of Rose and wait for her to finish her conversation.

She grabs her glass and raises it, clinking against mine. "To another successful venture." I take a sip, the bubbles crisp and refreshing as they dance on my tongue. It's a little tradition we have, when a forgery has been successfully switched and is out of our hands. We then include Alice and celebrate with a very expensive bottle when one of us has returned from the delivery to whoever the discreet, illegal buyer may be, which in this case was two weeks ago when Rose went to Prague with the original _The Embrace_.

We finish our glasses quickly, knowing Riley will be coming in the office shortly to drop off the security paperwork. No need for suspicion to be raised as to what we might be celebrating, so I rinse our glasses immediately and store them in the cabinet.

* * *

Three weeks have passed, and we haven't gotten any more visits from Edward Cullen or received any strange inquiries. Neither the Feds nor Interpol has smashed down our door, so we're feeling confident that quite possibly he was just an eccentric asshole. Albeit a really sexy one. That last opinion, I've still kept to myself.

The summer children's session we host every June is going well, one of our part time employees and some interns are out in the square with about fifteen kids. Today they're learning about sculpture, and needless to say, we're not about to have a group of rowdy kids with clay in their hands inside the gallery. A soft breeze is making the day coolly pleasant, so the parents seem happy enough sitting on benches and watching their little artists create.

Riley and I spend some time mapping out a collection of modern art coming from New York. The artist has an unusual style and I'm anxious to meet her, as the buzz surrounding her is growing. Most exhibits that pass through our doors are strictly for selling and dealing, just as they should be. The rare collections that come through are strictly for viewing purposes. The frequency in which we're hired to forge one is only every few months, if that much. This little break in time is allowing Rose and me to enjoy the simplicity of our actual jobs for a bit, while Alice continues to work on the piece that is scheduled for arrival in a little over a month.

Later that afternoon, I feel my cellphone vibrate in my pocket as I'm walking through the current exhibit with one of the professors whose student's works are on display, discussing and dissecting the different techniques each pupil has used in their presentation. We're hosting an open house this evening and we expect a relatively large number of people, mostly families of the students, but also a fair amount of fellow gallery owners and collectors, so it's a great opportunity for these young artists to network.

I excuse myself when I recognize the international number and head to the office. "Bonjour, Irina. Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?" I answer, and make small talk in French for a moment, using up basically all of my knowledge of the language with common niceties before switching to English, which Irina scolds me for.

"Bella," she says in her thick accent, "If you wish to do business here, you must speak the language. This is getting tiring."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm working on it," I agree. She can be a bit of a bitch, but she's our biggest whale so I have to play nice. Besides, she likes me for some reason.

"Bien. When can you arrive? My buyer will be returning from Portugal in two weeks and is interested in getting his hands on the photographs."

'Photographs' is code for a painting Alice completed four months ago, back at the end of winter, but the buyer has been travelling so we hadn't had to arrange for delivery.

I check my mental calendar. "I can come after he returns, if that works for you?"

"I will have Gerard meet you. Send him your arrival details. You'll stay with me." She hangs up without even an au revoir, which I do know and would've been able to say in return, so I just hit 'end' on my phone. The mention of me staying as a guest at Irina's home is sure to make Rose insanely jealous, due to the fact Irina has never offered that to her, and I laugh thinking about how miffed she'll be when I tell her.

I start planning in my head. If Rose gets the call back from that private collector in Montereau, I can try to skip over to France after seeing Irina in Geneva and help finalize the details for getting their collection of Eugene Boudin landscapes to visit the museum in the fall, killing two birds with one stone. I've never been to Paris; maybe I could take some time off and visit one of the most painted cities in the world. The thought of going to the Louvre just about makes me swoon.

I exit the office typing an email into my phone to myself, reminding me to book a flight later and talk to Rose about taking some of my many unused vacation days. My head is down as I pass through some visiting patrons to get back to the professor, when suddenly there's a large man blocking my way.

I'm surprised to see it's the black suit guy from the evening Edward Cullen visited. "Oh, pardon me," I say as I stop short to avoid colliding with him. All the hair on my arms stands on end, and I find my heel faltering. He reaches out to steady me, his grasp firm on my elbow.

"My apologies, Ms. Swan, I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's quite alright, what can I do for you? Is Mr. Cullen interested in returning to the gallery?" I swallow, trying to make myself sound a tad disinterested. "I'm afraid it's a student show at the moment, not sure he'd be captivated, unless he's interested in discovering new artists?"

"No, he isn't."

Okaaay. "Well what can I do for you then, Mr…" I trail off, realizing if I was ever given his name, I've forgotten it.

"You can call me M."

"M? Is that short for something?"

"No, ma'am. Just M."

I pause for a moment, my mind working. "I see. What is it that you need, M?" The reappearance of Edward Cullen's guard or whatever he is, and the odd, single initial of his name has me on alert. The idea that he may be here for business pertaining to our mysterious visitor has my nerve endings vibrating, in slight apprehension, but also in a strange sense of excitement.

"Mr. Cullen has been waiting for your phone call."

I blink. "I don't have his number."

"You do. He'll expect that call tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest. Good day, ma'am." And with that, M turns on his heel and walks briskly from the showroom floor.

I change direction and head immediately for the office to tell Rose about the visit, after apologizing to the still waiting professor. I round the corner and see she's on the phone, so I stand in front of her, waiting as she holds one finger up to me. I glance over at Caroline, busy cataloguing inventory lists at the far desk, when the light from the scanner she's using catches my eye. Moving to my desk, I take Mr. Cullen's business card from my top drawer and look at it again.

I've looked at it a hundred times over the past three weeks, revealing nothing new, but the scanner has given me an idea, so taking the card with me, I leave the office and make my way to the storeroom. Unlocking the door with my key card, I head to the cabinets where we keep various supplies for the gallery and scan the shelves, looking for the UV wand we use sometimes for insurance purposes. It can help determine the age of a painting, if any restorations have been made, or if there are any hairline cracks or tears in a canvas not visible to the naked eye. It's a useful tool. Alice has one at the studio to determine the fluorescence of her paint and to match whatever restorations have been done to a painting so she can copy it.

Turning on the light, I pass it over the card front and back, but it doesn't reveal anything. I drop both hands down to my sides, at a loss; sure I was on to something. Looking blankly at the wall, I put the wand down and walk to the light switch, turning off the overheads so the only light in the room is the purple luminosity the black light gives off. I walk back towards it, my white blouse beginning to glow like I'm at a rave. I pull the card closer to the light and that's when I see it.

There's a phone number directly under the 'EC'.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Comp Sem 101** **by bornonhalloween**

What happens when a scholarship athlete and an English major from opposite coasts meet in a freshman writing seminar? Will they be drawn together or forced apart by their weekly discoveries of themselves and each other? All human college coeds!

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Well, I think it's obvious you need to call him," Rose says, holding the card under the black light in the storeroom. I went to get her as soon as I saw it, vaguely telling her in front of Caroline that M had returned. She looked at me sharply and then followed me after discreetly turning on the alternate video system for the cameras. Anyone watching right now will see an unoccupied storeroom.

I shake my head. "This is just so… James Bond-ish or something."

"Too bad he doesn't look like Daniel Craig or Pierce Brosnan."

I realize then that I failed to mention exactly what Mr. Cullen looks like. She's still under the impression he's an old man, which is what Jess and I assumed and told her before we'd laid eyes on him.

"About that. He's actually _really_ good looking."

Rose arches an eyebrow and looks at me. The whites of her eyes are glowing, as are her perfectly whitened teeth. "Do tell."

I describe bits of him to her, the overall impression he gave, but try not to reveal the immediate attraction I had towards him. I do give her a little more detail about the end of our conversation and how he slid the card into the neckline of my dress.

Her vibrant eyes get wider and I move over to snap the light switch on. "So, I have to call," I say, not really a question.

"I think we need to know exactly who this man is. You don't carry around business cards expecting people to have UV lights in their pockets. That card was given to you deliberately. He probably has two. One for the general public, and one," she flaps the card in front of her face, "for something else. That's what you need to figure out. If he's attracted to you, all the better."

"What other people use UV lights?" I cross my arms and start to pace across the cement, my heels crunching on the grainy surface as I put on my sleuthing hat.

"Nightclubs. Some have the stamps that you can only see under UV light. And you can check fake IDs with them," she says, leaning on the table behind her, absentmindedly tapping her foot.

"Appraisers," I bounce back.

"Repairmen," Rose suggests, and I stop pacing, giving her a pointed look. "What? They use them for detecting leaks in fuel lines."

"Trust me, he's no repairman. Not with that suit and watch." I think about the tattoos on his hands, possibly a clue... but shake my head at the stereotypes of prisoners and biker gangs.

"Banker, checking counterfeit bills?"

"Maybe he's a rival forger, out to see who's stealing his business," I joke, but Rose just hums. I suppose anything is a possibility. I hesitate, but voice what neither of us wants to admit. "And the obvious, of course."

Rose looks at me, a solemn expression on her face. "FBI." I nod in agreement. "Well, I guess you're going to find out. Maybe he wants a rendezvous. Seduce him. Make him talk." She smiles, wiggling her eyebrows.

I bark out a laugh at the absurdity. "I'm sure a man that looks like that and _knows_ it I might add, isn't hurting for female company. I highly doubt he's looking for a dinner date."

"Ah, cocky is he? There's not a man alive that would deny a beautiful, sexy woman such as you. Dangle the proposition out there… unless perhaps he's married," she pauses, contemplating. "Ring?"

"Nope." First thing I checked when he held his hand out. "But that means shit. Why don't I make the call and see what he wants first? Maybe he's just looking to buy a painting or make a donation."

"Only one way to find out. I'll leave you to it." Rose makes her way out and flips the light off, allowing me to see the number. I pull my phone from my skirt pocket with shaky hands. I've never been this nervous calling anyone before; I deal with people all day, a great lot of them with considerable wealth and power, I can handle Edward Cullen.

I roll my eyes at myself and straighten my shoulders, so I'm feeling like the self-assured, confident woman I know I am and dial the number. I've never let anyone intimidate me before; I'm sure as hell not about to let that happen now.

The phone rings twice before I hear it connect, but whoever just picked up doesn't say anything. I'm about to speak when a throaty, smooth voice crosses the line and caresses my ear.

"Hello, Ms. Swan."

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised he knows who is calling. I'm sure he doesn't give out this number often, and he did have M order me to do exactly what I'm doing. Nonetheless, I find myself a bit thrown, but take a breath and quickly regroup.

"Mr. Cullen. I was told that you wished to speak with me." I don't offer anything else, forcing him to elaborate.

A soft chuckle sounds in my ear. "I'm surprised it took you this long to call."

My eyebrows raise and I start pacing the floor. "Overconfident, much?"

"Yes, I am. But I meant I was surprised you hadn't found the number until now."

"Who says I hadn't?" My voice teases slightly, not wanting to give him a clue as to how much I've been thinking about him since our last encounter.

"You would've called," he says simply, and I audibly laugh into the phone. "What's so funny, Ms. Swan? Am I wrong?"

He's got me there. I decide to be honest, hopefully to move this along. "No, I suppose you're not. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'm sending a car for you, M will be arriving at nine o'clock tomorrow evening."

I'm not some stupid girl that's going to allow him to just take me somewhere. "I'm afraid that won't work for me. If you'd like to meet to discuss gallery business, you may stop in. Ms. Hale will be here until closing this evening and tomorrow."

"I have no desire to meet with Ms. Hale. I'm requesting your company."

"May I ask why?"

"I'm intrigued by you."

My stomach twists slightly; his choice in words is vague. He's not making it sound like he's asking me on a date, but he's not saying he's requesting a formal meeting of some sort either. It looks like I'm going to have to play along.

"I'd be happy to meet you somewhere, Mr. Cullen, if that's alright."

He hums down the phone line, making my ear buzz. It's not altogether unpleasant. "Smart girl." He says, almost to himself. "M will let you know the details. See you at nine P.M. sharp. Good afternoon, Ms. Swan." I stare at my phone a moment after the line abruptly disconnects and walk back to the office.

Rose reaches for the hidden video button under her desk to switch it back to its normal operational mode when I return, but before I can share with her the details of the phone call, it vibrates in my hand and I see a text from an unknown number.

_Everest_

_40__th__ Floor Chicago Stock Exchange_

_9pm tomorrow_

"Huh."

Rose cranes her neck to get a look when I hold it out to her. "I've been there," she says. "The restaurant could double as a gallery; the décor on the walls and tables showcase five modernists, if I'm not mistaken. Interesting choice." She leans away from me and settles back in her chair. "Either Mr. Cullen is trying to impress the art lover in you, or he thinks he knows something we don't want him to."

"If he were a Fed, would he go to such lengths? I mean, this restaurant is _ex-clu-sive_. If you're going to interrogate me or frame me somehow, take me to Outback. Why the wine and dine? And the stealthy business card?"

"So maybe he's not a Fed. Get out your Herve Leger dress. It's a showstopper."

I look up at Rose, a small smile playing slyly over my lips. "The power of the little black dress."

* * *

At nine fifteen the next night, I pay my cabbie and make my way through the lobby of the Chicago Stock Exchange, taking the private elevator to the building's fortieth floor. I check my reflection in the mirrored panel and am happy with what I see. This black designer bandage dress is perfectly sculpted to my body, with a plunging neckline and carefully placed barely see through mesh cutouts that cross my body strategically. I've paired my sexiest shoes with it, the five-inch stiletto Jimmy Choo's with the ankle straps. Blood red lips and loosely curled hair complete the look I'm going for.

Intimidating and unaffected.

The elevator dings upon my arrival and the doors slide open smoothly, where I'm surprised to see M waiting for me and not a hostess or maître d'. "Ms. Swan, right this way, please," he asks, and with a wave of his hand requests I follow.

The first thing I notice as we walk into the restaurant is the breathtaking view of Chicago. The sun has set a while ago, but there's still a lingering hint of indigo in the night sky, the lights of the city twinkling and bringing the town to life in the large picture windows that line the front wall.

The second thing I notice is that the restaurant is completely empty of diners. Some of the wait staff stand near the serving station, waiting for instruction, and M leads me to a table with a stellar view, but no Edward Cullen. I'm purposely fifteen minutes late and I'm still here before him. I mask my grimace and smile at M, as he holds my chair and tells me Mr. Cullen will be arriving shortly.

A tuxedoed waiter appears and holds a bottle of champagne towards me. "Good evening, Ms. Swan. Mr. Cullen would be delighted if you would enjoy a bottle from his private collection this evening. Will that be acceptable?"

I look at the label, and while I've been privy to some lovely champagne courtesy of Rose, I've never had this before. The waiter recites the title as he tips it towards me, Krug Clos d'Ambonnay. I nod and thank him after he's finished pouring a small amount for me to taste. I don't think I've ever had something so delightful, so I nod enthusiastically and he proceeds to fill my flute.

A moment after he's left, I feel a light hand on the back of my shoulder. "Ms. Swan, my apologies. I had some urgent business that kept me."

I look up and he's just as handsome as I remember, smooth and sleek in a black suit and tie, while that unruly hairstyle of his still remains. I find that hint of rebellion about him charming. As he moves to his chair, I wonder if his business has anything to do with the building we're in, making him a financier of some sort. My head swims with the possibilities of who he might be.

"I was a bit late myself."

"Yes, I'm aware." Of course he is. He sits down across from me and the waiter immediately shows him the bottle. He barely glances at it and nods, sending him on his way once he's tasted it and his own flute is filled.

He raises his glass and holds it out towards me. "A toast, Ms. Swan, to new friendships."

"Is that what this is?" I clink and take a sip, my eyes never leaving his as I tip the liquid into my mouth.

He shrugs, a carefree sort of mannerism that doesn't correlate with the man he is in my head. "Sure, why not?" He gives me a closed mouth grin then, the outsides of his lips turning down in an adorable way, while his eyes dance with mischief.

The waiter appears and sets down a silver tray with black, inky caviar and toast points. "Have you had caviar before?"

I quirk an eyebrow and lay a condescending glance at him. "Certainly." He nods slightly, and I know he understands I'm not some inexperienced girl that will be easily impressed.

He gestures towards the tray and I help myself, using the little mother of pearl spoon to scoop a dollop onto the toast, placing it on the appetizer plate in front of me. I wait as he follows my actions with his own, and together, we taste.

I've had good caviar, but nothing compared to this. The caviar pops softly on my tongue, salty with the exact hint of fish that good caviar should have, it's clean and bright, and I might have just moaned.

"Delicious, isn't it?" he asks, and all I can do is nod. He watches my mouth as I roll my tongue around inside before chewing the cracker. He gestures for me to take some more and I gladly do. "Don't forget the champagne between bites. Excellent pairing." I eat another helping and swallow, finishing it off with a nice sip of the bubbly.

The waiter is at my elbow in an instant, refilling my glass. I watch Mr. Cullen as he eats his own, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the taste. Once he's had some champagne, he sets his glass down and moves forward in his chair, leaning his forearms on the table and crossing his hands in front of him. The tattoos are on better display, as his sleeves have pulled up with his movement. A black and gray medieval looking cross is on his right, the length of it slipping under his sleeve and out of view. On his left is a swirl of blue I can't make out.

"You're staring."

The amused expression on his face when I snap my eyes back to him makes me smile involuntarily. "Sorry."

"Are you?"

"Not really," I admit with a grin. "I have an appreciation for art in all forms." I look around the restaurant, at the paintings on the walls and the sculptures on each table. Heavy, iron castings of misshapen people act as the centerpieces, and I have to pull myself away from my gawking to turn my attention back to my dinner companion. "I don't think tonight's choice of restaurant was a coincidence."

"Things rarely are." I narrow my eyes slightly, but keep the smile on my face. "I do, however, happen to love this restaurant and wanted to share it with you."

"And no one else, apparently." I gesture around the empty room and he laughs. The sound tickles my ear like the champagne on my tongue. "Can I ask why you want to share this with me, of all people?" Might as well cut to the chase.

"I'm attracted to you." He feels the same need, apparently.

I can't help the flush of my skin as he keeps his gaze steady on me, but I also play through his choice of wording. Perhaps it's my guilty subconscious, but my mind does question if he's not using the word 'attracted' in less of a sexual nature as opposed to more of a 'keeping you close' variation.

I sit back and take my champagne flute with me, more out of something to do because I'm not quite sure what to say. That worry is taken from me as soon as he speaks.

"Would you stand up for me, please?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'd like to see all of you in that dress."

Automatically, my eyes widen, his intensity and request surprising me but also strangely affecting. I stay silent, as I have no idea what to make of this.

"It's a simple yes or no, Ms. Swan. Either you'll stand and let me enjoy what you've put on with me in mind tonight, or you won't. Either way, I'll still feed you." He smirks at the end of his speech, his confidence oozing out of every pore.

I know I look good, but I'm loath to give him the upper hand. Yet there's something in his commanding nature I'm not used to, and that excites me. I tell myself that I need to keep him happy and do what he asks, just so I can figure out his game, or Rose will be mad. Yes, that's why.

Slowly, I place my flute on the table and take my napkin from my lap, laying it off to the side. His eyes are fixed on me, so I slink sideways in my seat and stand, making sure to give him as much of a show as possible. I boldly take a step towards him and place my hands on my hips, bringing my feet together and sliding the side of my knee over the other, a move I know makes my legs look good.

In my periphery, I see his still clasped hands clenching in front of him as he trails his eyes down the length of my body; stopping at the shoes and then rising slowly back up.

"May I call you Isabella?" he asks blankly, and I hope he doesn't see the sudden wobble I take at the blasé request, especially after he'd just checked me out like that.

"I prefer Bella."

"Thank you, Bella, you look lovely. Please, sit down."

Everything in me wants to defy him, just from his arrogance alone, but really, I can't just keep standing here all night, so I do what he says and sit. The waiter returns and places my discarded napkin back in my lap and hurries away.

"So you've had caviar."

I have no idea what is going on here, and I don't like the feeling. I may be younger than him, but it doesn't mean I just rolled off a bus from Bumfuck, Nebraska. He must know most galleries hold opening night parties and the like. Surely I've attended something fancy. "Yes, of course," I reply, somewhat crossly.

"But have you ever had _illegal_ caviar?" The stress he places on the word 'illegal' strikes my body like a lightening bolt, and I struggle to keep my composure. I have no doubt this question is not a coincidence either.

"Can't say I have," I reply, cool as a cucumber.

He sits back and picks the little spoon up again, slathering another small piece of toast and holding it in front of him. "Wild Beluga from the Caspian Sea." Instead of placing it in his own mouth, he leans forward and holds it out to me, nodding towards my plate for me to lift at his offering.

I touch my plate, ready to accept, when I decide to test him a bit. Leaning forward, I watch his eyes widen slightly and he swallows, as I take the offered food directly from his fingertips with my teeth, brushing my lips against his skin before leaning back and slowly enjoying the contraband delicacy.

To his credit, he recovers quickly, smiling at me and helping himself to more. Just then, M comes to the table and leans down towards Mr. Cullen's ear; he speaks so quietly I hear nothing. Mr. Cullen's eyes dart to me and with a small nod, M leaves and he suddenly stands. "If you'll excuse me, Bella, there's a pressing matter I need to attend to. Please stay, the chef has prepared a spectacular menu for this evening and I'd hate to see it go to waste."

I can't help it when my mouth opens in shock while I stare at him. What the fuck?

He holds his hand out so I have no choice but to place mine in his, and he bends at the waist so his lips can gently kiss my knuckles. His caress lingers a beat longer than polite protocol calls for, and when he lifts his mouth away, he keeps my hand in his and brings himself closer, his nearness making me shiver.

"By the way, you _don't_ look lovely tonight." I raise my eyebrows in disbelief, and his mouth moves closer still. He lowers his voice, rough and intoxicating in my ear. "You look fucking edible."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Practicum** **by TheFicChick**  
"We're going to be teaching high schoolers how not to get each other knocked up or infected with gonorrhea. It's hardly a romantic evening for two."

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.  
**__**Reviews make me happy!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Rose and I meet at Starbucks the next morning, so I can fill her in on my bizarre evening with Mr. Cullen, because we don't discuss 'business' on our cell phones. I know she's going to want full details, so we're here, sipping our drinks while she picks at a muffin. I'm still stuffed from my awesome dinner last night. That I ate alone.

I tell her about the illegal caviar, certain words he used, and the absolute zero amount of clues I received to be able to guess just what he may be up to. I leave out all of the more personal things, like how easily I submitted when he asked me to stand for him so he could get a good look at me, my bold move with eating out of his hand, and his jaw dropping statement before he left. I'm not sure how I feel about it all, and I'm not about to try to dissect it with someone else until I know myself. I especially don't think Rose will appreciate my growing attraction to this guy until we know more about what his agenda might be.

"I still can't believe he left you sitting there to finish a meal by yourself. In an empty restaurant." Rose looks at me with a dumbfounded look on her face from across the table.

"That's about the size of it, yup."

"Unbelievable."

She looks around to see who is within earshot and we see we're still clear. "Okay, so I've been thinking. The FBI Art Crime Team division probably has more extensive resources than say, the Business Management unit. It's possible they gained access to that restaurant and the caviar, and they're using them to try and fish you out. No pun intended. His security or whatever could be another Fed; the whole thing might be orchestrated to make us think it's anything but what it might be. A sting operation."

I roll this around in my head, wondering if she's on to something. But the other part of me says he wouldn't have gotten that… forward with me if he's using me as an angle. I just don't know. "Seems awfully elaborate, no? I had a thought that the 'business' that caused him to be late, and subsequently leave me, might be in the building. I mean, the stock exchange is there, many private investment companies. Would explain a lot of the expensive living."

"I suppose that's another possibility. But I think you're definitely right about none of this being a coincidence, either way. What is it that he wants, or wanted, from you? He's either gotten the information he was after, whatever that might have been given the small amount of time you spent with him, or you should expect he'll want to get in touch with you again."

I snicker. "I don't know about that, I asked for a second bottle of his 'private' champagne and took it with me. Figured we could use it for our next celebration."

Rose clucks her tongue at me and shakes her head. "You're bad."

"You'd have done the same thing." I raise my eyebrows at her, knowing.

"You're right." We get up and make our way to the Hale a bit later than usual. We're not open to the public today or tomorrow since we're changing out exhibits, so Riley and the interns aren't expected until ten or so.

Once the crew has arrived, in high spirits to be dressed down in jeans and sneakers for the day, we get to work reorganizing the floor. Riley takes care of the heavier partitions while the interns help Rose and me move the columns under the spotlights that will house the rare gem collection that we're showing as a compliment to the New York artist's work. The cleaning crew will come through tonight, and tomorrow we'll begin setting up, getting ready for Saturday's opening.

We work through lunchtime, and when the buzzer sounds, I assume it's the pizza Rose ordered for the staff. I wipe my hands on my jeans and grab my wallet, hurrying to the front. When I see that it's actually M standing at the door, holding a dozen or so multi-colored roses, I slow down, making him wait.

I open the door but don't let him in, instead, stepping outside. "Hello, M."

"Ms. Swan. These are for you. I'd be happy to bring them inside for you." He motions to the door, but I don't budge.

"Why didn't he have the florist deliver them?"

"He asked me to personally make sure you received them and this note." I look at the small, square envelope in his hand but don't take it.

"If Mr. Cullen thinks flowers are going to impress me, or make up for his abrupt departure last night, he's sadly mistaken. You may take them back."

M looks a little surprised at my refusal of the gift. I'm sure this isn't the first time he's had to deliver flowers to a woman for Mr. Cullen, but it might be the first time he's had to return them. I feel a little bad for the guy, now he has to wrestle them back to wherever. "Thank you, M. I'm sorry you made a wasted trip down here."

I go back inside, feeling smug but also a bit worried that I might be playing a dangerous game with someone that could bring me, not to mention Rose and Alice, down. No one seems to have noticed who buzzed, but when I come back with no pizza I just say it was someone that didn't notice the 'closed' sign.

* * *

We finish on the early side, all of us excited for the opening Saturday, and especially the opening night party, where the artist, Leah Clearwater, will be introduced. The guest list is filled with notable people; Chicago's elite, a few celebrities, and even the mayor are expected to attend. It's a big coup for Rose's gallery, and the Chicago Tribune is sending press over as well for the Sunday Arts section.

I check my phone when I get into my car, still a bit surprised to not have gotten a call or message from Edward Cullen after I refused his less than impressive apology. Driving down Sheridan Road, I have the window cracked, letting the breeze from the lake help clear my head of the nagging thought that I've quite possibly pushed someone that shouldn't be pushed a little too far. I'm also a bit nervous that I'm making decisions for both Rose and Alice on how to play this, which isn't fair. Lastly, I'm reluctant to admit part of me is disappointed; my attraction unwisely focused on a man that's more than likely playing me.

My body involuntarily shudders as I remember how he ended the evening, the word 'fuck' coming from his mouth, hot and heavy in my ear. I want to hear it again, but in a completely different setting.

Arriving at my destination, I check my windblown hair in the rearview, grab the bag on the passenger seat, and make my way inside the Lake Shore HealthCare and Rehabilitation Center. I sign in at the desk and follow the brightly lit hallway to the elevator, which takes me to the long-term care section.

This place has more of a nice hotel feeling and less like a hospital, as the floors are a beautiful hardwood with a patterned inlay and the walls are covered in a pale yellow fleur de lis paper. I peek into room 328, seeing it empty, and walk to the common area at the end of the hall. I say hello to Betsy, one of the nurses on duty, and she points me towards a table in the corner.

"Hi, Dad." I lean down to kiss my father's cheek, feeling a hint of late day stubble. I sit next to his wheelchair and grab his hand, which squeezes mine tightly in return. I fight back the same tears I always do, as one side of his mouth smiles at me, his eyes shining with the same love and happiness he's always looked at me with, even before the accident that rendered part of his brain and the right side of his body unusable.

"What have you got here?" I say, moving the large picture book closer to me. "Another book about fish? You should try something new, you know there's a whole animal kingdom out there," I joke, but it kills me inside. I know why he gravitates to anything having to do with fishing; it was his favorite activity, one we shared together as my mother wasn't a fan. It was always 'Daddy and Bella' time when he was able to get a day off, and I miss it as much as he does. I think it's his way of reliving some of the memories that he's been able to keep.

I pull out the things I've brought him, his favorite candy, some new shirts, a new Cubs squeeze ball to use with his left hand, and another book filled with pictures of boats. He smiles and makes a few sounds deep in his throat, and I know he's happy. We sit and play Connect Four until it's time for dinner.

Declining his usual orderlies' help, I push my father to the dining room, which is more of a restaurant with menus, tableside service, and soft music playing over the speakers. We sit at a table with Mary, a woman I've come to know who suffers from early stage Alzheimer's. Today is a good day, she knows who we are, so we chat and she tells me things about her life, even though I've heard most of these stories already. She's sweet and likes to play simple board games with Charlie, as well as cards when she remembers them.

Soon enough, it's time for Charlie to retire for the evening, so I take him back to his private room, with the comfortable bed and furnishings, flat screen, and large, airy windows. Nothing but the best for my dad.

"Charlie, did this pretty girl tire you out again?" I hear Otis say as he enters, always joking and with a smile in his voice.

Charlie shakes his head as Otis starts fussing to get him to the bathroom and into bed. I squeeze the large man's shoulder; thankful he's become such a friend to both of us.

I kiss my father goodbye, promising to come back over the weekend. I've explained my job requires a lot of time and that I have to travel frequently, but he never seems sad when I can't come, just happy that I love what I do. They take excellent care of him here, and he's never lonely, but I wish I could see him more. When I get upset about it, he pulls me to him and rests his head on mine as he smiles that half smile, and I know he's okay.

As I'm leaving, I make a mental note that payment for the next four months will be due soon. The number always floors me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

The day of the opening is hectic, with vendors in and out delivering tall cocktail tables and the temporary bar, along with accessories such as small centerpieces and linens. Rose, Riley, and I all duck out at different times at the end of the day to get home to change, and I return in time for the catering company's arrival, setting them up in the small kitchen in back where they'll prep the hors d'oeuvres the waitstaff will walk amongst the crowd with.

As the evening progresses, both rooms are packed with people. Leah Clearwater is very flamboyant and a bit kooky, but she seems very appreciative of the attention, talking to everyone and discussing her art. Her style is abstract, a commentary on everyday life, and a lot of her paintings incorporate physical items to help tell a story. There's one in particular I keep getting drawn to. A medium-sized painting that has distressed wooden boards with peeling paint integrated against a sea green and sky blue backdrop. It reminds me of a fishing boat on a lake and makes me think of Charlie. What ties the collection together is a common affect used in her paintings; resins and shiny materials that make them sparkle under the lighting. This one has what looks like blue, iridescent crushed pieces of children's marbles, causing the water to look like it's rippling under the sun.

I make a few rounds and sip some champagne; mostly letting others talk to Rose and Leah, while I take the responsibility of making sure the caterers are bringing food out regularly, and the cleaning staff is whisking away glasses and plates.

After grabbing a second flute off a passing tray, I see the unmistakable form of Edward Cullen circling the outer gallery, and I almost drop my glass. When I finally told Rose about the flowers, she was a bit miffed that I refused them and was of the mindset that I should reach out to him, because we still needed to figure out what his business was. I was hesitant; leading her to believe I'm somewhat reassured that he doesn't seem interested in us any longer, as he never followed up to find out why I denied the gift. I didn't tell her the real reason I'm reluctant to call him, that I'm a bit hurt that he appears to have taken me at my word when I sent the flowers away, deciding I didn't want his attention or wasn't worth pursuing further.

While I can't refute the thrill that shoots through me at the idea he is here, I don't know if I should feel relieved at seeing him across the room from me, or if his presence is cause for alarm after all. He hasn't approached me or made notice of me, so perhaps his interest strictly is on the exhibit. Everything on display is genuine tonight, obviously, but it's still putting me on edge. I debate alerting Rose, who seems caught up in a circle of clients. Since she's never laid eyes on him, if she sees him she won't be aware of who he is, so I decide to leave her be.

I watch him as he moves along the opposite wall, no sign of M, and no sign that he is with anyone in particular. While I observe him unnoticed, I see quite a few of the female guests checking him out, one or two he stops to speak with. I huff and narrow my eyes reflexively. Perhaps he isn't here to see me at all, and the thought makes me irrationally angry. Finally, he turns in my direction, but is looking at the painting I can't see from my perspective since it's on his side of a partition separating the two rooms.

His white shirt under his charcoal suit is open at the collar with no tie. I suck in a breath when I see the skin exposed by the gap in the shirt covered in ink, with what appears to be varying shades of gray and black. I wobble a bit in surprise and place a hand down on the tall table next to me.

Who the fuck _is_ this guy?

A waiter walks past him, and he easily grabs a glass of champagne from the tray. Without warning, he meets my eyes confidently and raises his glass in greeting, a devastating smirk firmly in place, like he knew I was there all along, watching his every move.

I do nothing in return but stare; surprised at his acknowledgement, and then lack thereof because he immediately goes back to the conversation he's having with someone I can't see, gesturing at the painting in front of him.

His cavalier attitude incenses me, but I suppose if he took my returning the flowers as rejection, I guess I wouldn't be so keen as to speak with me either.

I'm reluctant to admit the fact that this upsets me, even though for the sake of Rose and Alice, I should be relieved he's lost interest. I circle the gallery in the opposite direction of where he is, mingling a bit and chatting with some guests. I meander around the glass-enclosed columns that hold the gem collection, consisting of Faberge Eggs covered in rubies, hair combs encrusted with diamonds, and assorted jewelry on loan from the Pritzker estate, one of Chicago's oldest and wealthiest families.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Cullen moving my way, so I walk to another column, turning around it and observing the contents. He's matching my pace, a lazy stroll through the pillars, staying in sight but not approaching. We glance at each other occasionally as we continue whatever this dance we're engaged in is. The pinpoint of the directional spotlights above the displays shine down, causing everything in my periphery to black out and fade away, until the only thing I can see is him, all I can _feel_ is him. I'm entranced by the way the copper in his disorderly hair gleams under the light, as brilliant as the gems behind the glass.

I try to keep my attention centered on what I'm walking around but fail more than once. He catches me looking at his exposed chest and snickers lightly. I turn, my heels clicking on the floor as I roam around an emerald teardrop necklace, the reflection of the surrounding diamonds sparkling and catching me in the eye, which makes me miss the moment when he gets near. He's a foot away, on the opposite side of my column now, and we circle it and each other. When he takes a step around towards my side, trying to get closer, I take the same step away, the two of us like animals waiting for the other to pounce on the prey caught in between.

"You don't like flowers, Ms. Swan?" he asks in a low voice, aware of other people nearby.

"Flowers are lovely, when given with the right intention."

"My intention was to apologize for running out on our evening. But I suppose I should've known roses would not impress you."

"It wasn't about impressing me, Mr. Cullen, it was about your method of delivery. I would've been satisfied with a phone call offering an apology."

He looks at me pointedly. "You didn't read the note."

"A note is not a phone call." I smile sweetly, and return my attention to the gems.

"You're right, Ms. Swan. I should've called," he chuckles casually at my reprimand and tips his head.

"I would've accepted _that_ gesture, Mr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Edward."

"I'll think about it. I'm not sure there will be other opportunities for us to be that friendly anyway." I shrug one shoulder; trying to give off the impression I'm not dying to spend more time with him.

"So if I were to request your company again, I'd be shot down?"

"Depends on why you want it, sir. You never truly answered. Gallery business?"

He stares at me, eyes narrowed with a playful tilt to his lips as he leans a bit over the glass block that separates us. "What do you _think_ my intentions are, Bella?"

I shiver slightly, loving the way his jaw moves as he forms my name. I'm slightly dazzled by the scruff that graces his face and force myself to look away. "I have no idea."

We stop talking, each of us still on opposite sides of the glass, and Edward stares at the contents inside. "This would look lovely on you."

"I'm not an emerald sort of girl."

He looks up, eyebrows raised in question. "Diamonds, perhaps?"

I shrug, casually. "Not really."

"Hmm." His eyes narrow, trying to figure me out. "Not rubies."

"No," I confirm.

We fall silent again, and I move away, but he follows, aimlessly walking beside wherever I'm leading. "The painting that's gotten your attention so often this evening, what is it about it that makes you keep going back to it?"

I'm startled that he'd noticed my appreciation of the piece all night. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough. You seem captivated with it."

"It… feels familiar."

"How so?" He lightly touches my elbow, a touch I feel in every part of my body as his light grip leads the way, directing me to follow him to the wall where the boat painting rests. I move with him willingly, so he removes his hand and takes my empty flute, placing mine along with his on a nearby table while grabbing two more from a passing waitress. He carries them both until we reach the painting, where he hands one to me.

"Tell me."

I hesitate. I don't talk about my parents often, certainly not to people I don't know, but I need to keep his interest, so I can keep him close. "My father and I used to go fishing at Silver Lake on the weekends when he wasn't working," I trail off, not wanting to get too personal. "This just reminds me of that time." I can feel him step a bit closer and turn to the side, looking at the painting with me.

"Ah, so that's it."

"What's it?"

He gestures towards the blue marbles, shimmering under the light. "Sapphires."

I look at him; his face smug but I don't tell him he's right. He looks me up and down slowly, too intimate, and hums in appreciation at the simple, strapless cocktail dress that hits me just above the knee. He leans in closer, his breath hot on my skin as he traces a solitary finger from my shoulder to my neck. "Your naked skin is begging to be draped in sapphires." His hand stills on my neck, lightly mimicking where a necklace would lie, his thumb at the hollow and his fingers stretching back under my hair. He leaves it there as I swallow, the look in his eye almost ravenous. I'm dizzy by the time he removes it, even though it was merely seconds that it lingered.

Involuntarily, I place a hand on my bare throat, as he steps back, his eyes watching as I stroke the place he just touched. The electricity between us could light the whole showroom floor and most of Chicago.

"Have dinner with me again."

I laugh. "That didn't turn out so well the other night."

"Oh, I think that bottle of champagne that's probably residing in your refrigerator right now says otherwise for you. I, on the other hand, didn't get quite as nice of a parting gift."

"And that would've been?"

"To get you out of that dress, of course." I raise an eyebrow at him and am about to answer, when suddenly M is standing at Edward's elbow. I've completely forgotten that anyone outside our bubble exists, so his appearance snaps me from my haze. Edward looks slightly annoyed, but nods when M tells him the car has been pulled up front as asked. Edward looks at his watch quickly like he did the night we met, always so interested in the time.

M says something close to Edward I can't hear, of course, and then steps back to allow us a modicum of privacy. "I'm going to be away on business for a bit, but when I return, I'll call for you."

Now that the fog has lifted, I try to regain some control back of the situation. "You can try, I may not be available."

He looks around the room fleetingly and then directly back at me, smug amusement all over his face. "Ms. Swan, I think we both know that you will be."

I laugh, incredulous. "What makes you think I'll just go along with whatever you say?" I think back to dinner and his request for me to stand, realizing that's exactly what I did.

"Because you want to." He says this like it's a basic fact, like what day it is or what town we're in. He leans in closer, his slightly rough beard touches my cheek and my eyes close spontaneously as I lean into him. I feel his lips softly kiss me before whispering against my skin. "Besides, I think you're too curious not to see this through."

I pull away and we stare at each other, my mind turning his words around in my head like a puzzle, wondering if this is a thinly veiled threat that it's in my best interest to comply.

I'm mildly annoyed at his self-assurance and presumptuousness, but really, do I have a choice? I give him a quick nod in agreement, before the obstinate girl in me comes forth to tell him to fuck off. I'm also slightly angry with myself, the fact that I am more than eager to see what would happen if we were to be have real time together very hard to admit.

He throws a wink at me, which I manage to look bored at, and he turns to leave with M close at his heels. Before he reaches the door, a woman stops him, chatting briefly, and I see him hand her a business card out of a different card case than the one I saw. I know this woman to be one of Leah's team so once he's left, I approach her and ask who the man was she was just speaking to was, to see if she knows anything about him.

"Oh, we were chatting before about one of Leah's pieces, but we got interrupted. Here," she says, and holds out a business card for me to read.

I read the name out loud that's stamped in copper lettering on the white square.

"Anthony Masen." And under that, the words, 'Attorney at Law'.

_What in the hell._

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Legendary** **by WhatsMyNomDePlume  
**COMPLETE. Preternaturally irresistible, devastatingly charming Edward Cullen seems to have some strange power over the females in Forks…and Bella is scared she might know just what it is.M for language &amp; naughty fun. Part mystery, part drama, all Edward.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I have many opportunities over the course of the evening after Edward leaves to tell Rose about his visit.

I don't take any of them.

The way he looked at me, talked to me, the way he _touched_ me makes me question if he has any agenda other than bedding me. Rose will say it's exactly what he wants me to think, to get me close and trip me up somehow. She'll be calling me naïve and maybe I am, but the pull I feel towards him is too strong to deny. And if I'm wrong? Then I hope I'm smart enough to figure it out before he knows I have, buying us some time if he is, in fact, using me. I think about the card he gave Leah's publicist, and while my gut tells me it's a front, the words 'Attorney at Law' shouldn't be taken lightly.

The next week passes without much fanfare, Leah's collection is shipped out as it was a limited engagement, and we ready the Hale for an exhibit featuring old artifacts and photographs centered around early Chicago history. This collection comes through every year, around the same time the jazz festival blows through the city.

Edward had said he was going out of town, and that he'd arrange to see me when he returned. He promised me nothing in way of a call or text while away, so I really have no right to be irritated, but I am.

I'm also disappointed in myself that I'm disappointed I haven't heard from him.

I toy with the idea of getting a hold of him, to keep him thinking about me, but decide that I can't give him the upper hand, if I do in fact have it to give. I can't let on that I'm anticipating his next move, and I certainly can't let him know he's all I'm thinking about.

I spend the Sunday after shipping out Leah's exhibit with my dad, watching the Cubs and eating hot dogs I bought from a street vendor. I'm wearing my cap and he's got on the number 23 Sandburg jersey I got him for Christmas last year. It's a great afternoon; Charlie is in high spirits and is able to stay up for the whole game.

Spending the time with Charlie helps keep my mind off of Edward for a while, but as soon as I leave he's back in the forefront of my brain. I don't want to confuse myself by calling our next encounter a 'date' necessarily, this man might only be interested in me as a means to an end.

The end of Rose, Alice, and me.

I worry about the consequences of what we do occasionally, who wouldn't? I fear what will happen to my father, but when I spend time with him, I remember why I take these risks. Another few years of this, and I'll have enough saved up to pay for the next few years of his care, and then after that, my goal is to have the means to bring him to live with me, in a house where he has round the clock care. A nice place by a small lake perhaps.

I like to think Rose has a pretty good handle on things; she's cunningly smart and doesn't get ruffled easily. I follow behind, a bit of a control freak, making sure to follow Rose's steps with double checks and balances. Having to take care of everything in my personal life with no one to fall back on for so long has only increased my responsible nature, which melds well with Rose's more laid back approach. If anyone is the weak link in our little organization, it's Alice. Mousy and insecure, she doesn't go out much, counts Rose and I as her only friends, and when she's not working on something for us, she's painting regardless. It's all I've ever seen her do. If anyone ever got to her, I can't say I don't trust she wouldn't fold like a bad poker hand.

I text Rose, suggesting to her that we should take Alice to dinner, to make sure she's not worrying about whatever is going on too much. I have purposely not told her anything else about Edward since the night she first saw his card, but I worry about her holing herself up in that studio, which she also lives in, day in and day out. It will also be a nice distraction for me if I'm not sitting at home thinking about him. I frown when I realize Rose or Alice could bring the situation up at some point in the evening, therefore making the distraction of dinner moot. I'll just have to make sure to keep them occupied on something else.

Leaving my father later in the afternoon, I promise to see him in a few days and make my way back to my place in Lincoln Park, the second floor of an old renovated home that's been divided into three apartments. It's not much, a small, basic one bedroom with a galley kitchen, but it's in a good neighborhood and it's enough for me. My one indulgence in life is nice clothing that I bargain hunt for, since I travel and go to parties like last night often enough for work, but other than that, every dime gets saved for my father's healthcare.

Parking is a nightmare in my neighborhood, so I squeeze into the first parking spot I see, a few blocks from my home. When I finally walk to the building, I see the unmistakable bulk of M, standing on my stoop with a large crate and two men wearing tool belts. My heart stutters, and I admit to looking around quickly to see if Edward is about to get out of the gunmetal gray Mercedes double parked in front of a white van, but he doesn't.

"M, what are you doing here?"

"Ms. Swan, I have a delivery for you from Mr. Cullen."

I look at the large crate and can only guess as to what's inside. "Take it back."

M looks from the crate and the two men and back to me. "You haven't even looked to see what it is."

"I have a fairly good idea, and I can't accept it." Although I really, really want to. I just know it's the boat painting from Leah's show.

"Mr. Cullen really wants you to have it. In fact, I've been told not to leave until these two men hang it for you, at your direction."

For the first time, I detect that same hint of an accent Edward has in M's speech, but I don't focus on it for long. "How did you know where I live?" I ask, suddenly aware they're in front of my home.

M just looks at me and I raise a hand at him. "Pressure off. I can guess. Mr. Edward Cullen knows all, right?" M smirks a little and I sigh. "I suppose I should be happy you're not actually _in_ my apartment."

"That would be illegal, ma'am. Please, if you'll allow us in, we'll be out as quickly as possible."

I try not to focus on him using the word illegal. "I'm really uncomfortable taking such an extravagant gift."

"I can bring the flowers back, if you prefer."

"M, are you… making a joke?" I look at him wide-eyed, and his expression shifts, worried that he's crossed a line. "Don't worry about it, I thought it was funny."

He nods his head once, quickly, and asks again if I'll let them in.

"Can I ask to see it first?" M motions to one of the men who takes a crowbar and pries the top off and a piece of Styrofoam packing before he and the other guy put gloves on and gently begin to lift the painting. The blue canvas peeks out from the top, and I tell them I've seen enough.

"You're under strict orders not to leave me alone until you've hung this, correct?" I say to M, who nods in affirmation.

I pull my phone out and quickly text Rose, telling her I'm going to be late.

Digging in my bag for a pen and piece of paper, I quickly scrawl an address and tell M to meet me there.

He looks a little dumbfounded and unsure. "M, this is the deal, it's either there," I point at the paper, "Or you're going to be standing on my stoop all night."

I see the battle warring in him, but he finally relents and tells the two guys to nail the top back on and get it in the van.

"See you there, Ms. Swan."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I'm directing the two handymen to tilt the painting a smidge to the left. I've told Otis to take my dad outside for a while, but I call him back in now that we're done.

My father gets wheeled into his room and looks at M, one eyebrow furrowed in suspicion, before Otis pushes him to me and turns him around.

I crouch down and grab my dad's hand. "What do you think?" I watch his face as he gazes at Leah's painting, the distressed wood and sapphire water hanging proudly over the small seating area. His hand starts to tremble in mine and he brings my hand to his face, resting his cheek against it. His eyes turn to me and I see the wet in them, which makes my own tear up. "Do you like it, Dad? It's us. It's our Silver Lake," I say quietly, and he nods, looking back at the painting and placing a soft kiss on my fingers.

The two handymen move just outside the door to the hall, but when I look at M who is still next to me and give him a big smile, the goof can't help but smile back.

"Mr. Cullen will be pleased," he says, and I roll my eyes at his formality. I don't miss the quick swipe he gives his left eye before turning and directing his men that they're done here, leaving my father and me alone.

A moment later I rush into the hall, calling his name. "Yes, ma'am?" he says, pausing by the elevator.

"Don't tell Mr. Cullen," I look back in at my dad, staring at the painting with so much brightness in his eyes as his fingers move in front of him like he's touching it. I can't chance the most important thing in my life with someone that might end up being the enemy. "Just tell him I let you hang it. Let him think it's at my place. Please."

M looks at me and for a moment I think he's going to say he can't. I know I'm asking a lot of him. Instead, he nods slightly.

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you." Although I'm somewhat placated, I'm not stupid enough to dismiss the fact that M agreeing with my request to not divulge info about my father to Mr. Cullen doesn't mean he isn't still the enemy.

* * *

I meet Rose and Alice at our favorite Mexican place, where they're both already two margaritas in. As soon as the waitress appears, I order two, needing to catch up.

Alice is slurring already, her small frame no match for the amount of tequila the restaurant puts in their drinks, so I order the guacamole appetizer to get something in her stomach before we order entrees.

As we fill up on chips, I ask Rose if she's had any interest in Leah Clearwater's paintings after the exhibit. She nods, enthusiastically, saying she'd fielded a few inquiries, selling at least five of the pieces and brokering a sixth.

I nod, knowing I'll have to tell her eventually that I now own one, because when I go out of town, Rose often stops by to check on my dad for me. There's no way she's not going to recognize the painting now hanging happily in his room when I leave for Geneva next week.

"I was thinking, if you got the Montereau deal started I could skip over there to finalize after."

"I'll work on it." Rose nods, and scoops up more guacamole with a chip.

"I thought I might take a few days too, maybe head over to Paris."

Rose smiles. "Bella Swan, are you actually going to take a vacation?"

"I'm thinking about it, but my dad…" I trail off, taking a sip of my drink.

"You know I'll go hang out with him. Charlie loves me. I'll bring Alice. They can paint." Alice nods enthusiastically, and it's all I can do not to well up at the fact that my friends are encouraging me to have a life outside of work and Charlie.

We have way too many more drinks, stuff our faces, and end up gossiping about bad television shows and get the low down on Rose's new stepmother. It's perfect and exactly the distraction I needed.

Rose eventually asks for the check and I wrestle Alice out of the booth, slinging my arm around her waist to help her walk. I'm pretty drunk myself, so the two of us stumble a bit through the tables, weaving our way outside so I can get Alice into some fresh air while we wait for Rose to settle up.

I lean Alice against the side of the restaurant and shift her shoulders upright twice by her overall straps as she looks like she's about to go down. Every time she starts laughing, she starts to move and I have my hands out towards her in case she starts to slide, which is pretty funny and making me laugh too, which isn't helping. Alice starts singing along with the song being piped through the outdoor speakers under the awning, but stops suddenly and looks behind me, her eyes narrowing and widening to focus.

"Bella, there's a man standing behind you. Or maybe there's two," she giggles, and I turn quickly only to see M, standing a few feet away, a concerned expression on his face.

I forget all about keeping Alice steady and turn away from her; about to question just what in the hell he's doing here when he suddenly lunges forward, almost knocking me over and clutches Alice as she weaves forward. I watch as he picks her up like she's weightless and begins to carry her to the gray Mercedes.

Panic rushes through and sobers me instantly. The sight of him taking Alice is alarming, my mind racing with every nefarious scenario you can think of. I start to yell, pitching forward and following after her, trying to grab her hand but missing. "Hey! You can't just take my friend! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I pull on his suit jacket but he doesn't stop, heading towards the car, a lifeless Alice draped over his arms like dead weight.

"What in the fuck?" I hear from behind me, and see Rose approaching fast. "Who the fuck are you? Put her down!"

M turns and Alice's head bobs and tucks itself into the crook of his arm. "I'm here to make sure you ladies arrive home safely."

Rose's eyes widen as she looks at M, her mouth open and about to start yelling, but I interject, stopping her before she can, because people are starting to stop and watch.

"How did you know where we were? Did you follow me?" Out of the corner of my eye I see Rose's head snap my way, and it dawns on me that if she's never seen Edward, she's never seen M.

"Mr. Cullen sent me, yes."

"Mr. Cullen?" Rose says, putting the pieces together of who M is. "Were you the one that paid for our dinner?" Rose asks, and I look at her. "I asked for the check and the waitress said it had already been taken care of."

"That would be Mr. Cullen's doing. Can we go now? I think this one needs to get into bed." As if on cue, Alice snores loudly from the cradle of M's arms.

"I've already called a cab," Rose says, and M cuts her off.

"These are my orders. Let's go." He shifts Alice so he can use one hand to open the back door and Rose looks at me, like I know what to do.

"We can't just let him take her," she snaps in my ear, slightly panicked.

I think quickly, knowing it's not smart for all of us to get in that car, leaving no one to know where we are just in case, but I can't get Alice out of this car without causing a scene, one I probably don't want to make. "Well, unless you can wrestle him to the ground, I say I go along, we'll make an excuse why you can't come." I think about my afternoon with M, the moment he was witness to between my father and I, and his unspoken agreement to keep my family separate from whatever it is that's on Edward's agenda. "If Mr. Cullen is up to something, I don't think it would go down like this."

"Why would he give us a private escort home? Bella, what's going on?'

"I don't know, I'm doing what we agreed, getting to know him. He wants to see me again." I sigh. "He was at Leah's show."

Rose gives me the stink eye, and I hold up my hands, like I'm sorry I didn't tell her.

"You can't let him know where she lives," she whispers, and I nod. Turning back to M, I tell him that I'll go with him and Alice, but Rose is waiting for someone else to arrive, to continue her evening. He thinks about this for a moment, and I wonder if his orders are to take all three of us, and if so, is he about to force the issue.

I let out a breath when he relents. "That's fine. Be careful, Ms. Hale."

"Keep your phone close," I say when I wrap my arms around her shoulders to hug her goodbye.

"He knows my fucking name," she hisses but nods against me, agreeing, before telling me to text her when we're home.

M is now watching us, holding the door open and waiting for me to slide in. I walk to the car and look back at Rose, who gives me a slightly worried look, but I just smile at M, not showing my nerves, and get in the backseat after Alice. He shuts the door behind me with a dull thud, and on instinct, I grab Alice's limp hand.

M gets in the driver's seat and turns to ask me Alice's address. "She's staying with me tonight. Her apartment is being renovated." M raises an eyebrow, but pulls the car from the curb.

The car is deathly silent as M drives. I'm on alert as I watch the streets go by, but he seems to be going towards my neighborhood, and I feel myself relax. I look at the back of his head and notice he doesn't have the earpiece in. I try to remember if he had it on today at my Dad's, but I was too preoccupied to notice. Once he pulls onto my street, I let out a breath. Even though I wasn't extremely distressed, I wasn't one hundred percent sure of M's intentions.

Or what other orders he might've received.

He pulls up right in front of my building and opens the back door, lifting Alice out. She sort of wakes, but as soon as she's back in his arms, she turns to jelly.

"I've got it from here, M. Thank you," I say, gesturing to him to put her down once I'm out of the car.

M gives me a doubtful look and tells me he has her, I should just run ahead and open my door. I hesitate, not sure it's wise to have M inside my apartment. I quickly think about anything I might have lying around that would be questionable, but anything that might be suspicious is usually kept at the studio.

I lead the way, and M follows me to the second floor, where I open up my apartment and he carries Alice in, looking around the dimly lit space. "Bedroom?" he asks, and I motion towards the couch. He places her down gently, and she kind of snuffles against his sleeve, wiping drool on him, before rolling over and sticking her face into the cushion. "She's going to have quite the hangover tomorrow. Do you have aspirin or should I go purchase some for you?" he questions, and I tell him I'm covered.

He heads to the door, turning back to say goodnight and it doesn't escape my attention that he's making a quick survey of my home. I have no doubt Edward Cullen is about to get a full description of my tiny apartment. Before he can focus on or memorize any one thing, I start to close the door, ushering him out.

I double bolt the door and slide the chain closed, pressing my ear against the wood to wait for M's footsteps on the stairs. After a few moments, he lumbers down to the first floor and I rush to the window to make sure he leaves. A second later he exits my building, and I watch as he climbs in the car and pulls away.

Grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch, I drape it over Alice and shoot Rose a quick text. She answers it quickly, relieved, so I throw the phone on the kitchen counter and grab a bottle of water from the fridge to put on the coffee table for Alice.

My phone dings as I'm about to go to my bedroom, so I pick it up expecting to see Rose's name with another text.

But it's not. It's Edwards's number staring back at me. I look at it for a second and then click to open it.

_You need a bigger apartment._

My eyebrows shoot to the very top of my forehead. That was fast._ The one I have is fine, thank you. And tell M he makes a terrible spy. I knew he was casing the joint. _

His reply is quick._ Ridiculous. Both statements._

_Speaking of ridiculous, there was no need to provide M's service this evening, we're grown women fully capable of getting ourselves home. _

_You were drinking, and I have a vested interest in ensuring your safety._

I pause_, _and type slowly._ How so?_

_I still owe you dinner. Can't fulfill my debt if you're harmed in any way._

Regardless of how... invasive his actions were this evening, I can't help but smile and walk to my bedroom, plopping down on my bed._ You owe me nothing; apparently you paid for my dinner tonight. _

_True, but that's not what I had in mind to guarantee you make good on that hijacked bottle of very expensive champagne._

I bite my lip, typing out a response but not hitting send. My words can either be construed as funny if he's up to nothing, or very incriminating. My finger hovers over the phone, and I press the button before I lose my nerve._ So that's all I am, a champagne thief? _

Time seems to slow as I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply_. Your words, not mine. I'll be back in Chicago next week. I'll contact you for details._

What the hell does that mean?_ I won't be here next week_. I type; somewhat disappointed our paths aren't going to cross.

_Where will you be?_

_Out of town._

_Business or pleasure?_

I smirk; thinking about the days off I'm going to take. _Both, hopefully._

Again, there's another lengthy pause until he responds. _Ms. Hale is sending you away on a business trip?_

I look at my phone confused. _It happens occasionally._

_Mind telling me where this business and pleasure might be? And with whom?_

_Yes, in fact, I do. Goodnight, Mr. Cullen. Sweet dreams__._

And with that, I turn off my phone.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Sideline Collision** **by Nolebucgrl  
**A cocky QB runs into a snarky band geek. What happens when they collide on and off the field? Rated M.

* * *

**_As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work._**

**_Reviews make me happy!_**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I'm making coffee and trying to be as quiet as possible on Monday morning when I hear a muffled groan coming from my living room couch. I grab a cup; the one emblazoned with Edvard Munch's _The Scream_ because I think it's appropriately funny for what I'll bet Alice feels like right now.

Grabbing two Tylenol and the coffee, I bring it to the party girl, who is now sitting up with her hand over her eyes. She takes both with a grunt of thanks as I get myself comfortable in the chair opposite. I watch as she blows on the mug a few times and downs the pills before relaxing back into the couch.

"So, how did I end up in your apartment instead of the studio?" She takes another sip, looking at the mug with a frown.

"It was just easier, we were both pretty drunk, so Rose thought we should just take a cab to my apartment since it was closest," I lie. Rose and I didn't discuss what to tell her, but I think she'd be in agreement not to startle her further. Alice nods until her features morph into a confused scowl.

"I remember a car, but I don't remember being in a cab."

"It was a car service. Unmarked. A sedan."

"Oh." Apparently the backseat of a town car fits whatever flashes of the evening she has, and she doesn't say anymore about it. I'm grateful she doesn't remember anything about who got her _in_ the car or out of it.

"I owe someone some money." She pats the pockets of her overalls for the little crochet credit card case and wallet combo she carries, but I tell her that Rose picked up the tab. We sit and drink for a while, discussing what she recalls of our evening until my stomach growls, so I offer to make her some breakfast but she declines with a hand over her mouth in disgust. She decides she can't even smell food, so she chooses to head home, and I send her off with a travel mug filled with more coffee.

* * *

Tuesday morning Riley and Rose are on the floor, showing the Chicago exhibit to a group of visitors that arrived as part of a Chicago history bus tour, so I'm at my desk making last minute travel arrangements for Geneva when my phone rings.

I glance down at it as I'm typing an email, and it's none other than the mysterious Mr. Cullen. I smile, and let it go to voicemail. A few moments later, I realize it didn't chime that I have a voice message. I stare at the phone, seeing no icon telling me he left one and fight with myself about picking it up to make sure it's not broken. I spend a minute in denial that I'm not upset by his not leaving a message, stubbornly fighting the high that comes over me when the jerk comes to mind. Which is becoming much too often in my daily routine.

Rolling my eyes and sighing at my own lack of restraint, I pick up the phone to check it just as it starts ringing again.

A feeling of self-satisfaction floods me at the fact that quite possibly, his eagerness is on par with mine.

Letting it ring another two times, I answer, trying to sound like I wasn't just sitting there grinning like a fiend at the image of his name on my phone.

"Hello, Bella." His voice is warm bourbon coming over the line, melting into my ear and making my stomach flip.

"Mr. Cullen."

"I thought I told you to call me Edward," he chuckles, and I smile at the sound.

"I never agreed." I hear an exhale of breath down the phone line, and I sit back in my chair, settling in. "I suppose I could try, but sometimes it seems to just roll off my tongue that way. You know, formal and subservient."

A scraping sound rings in my ear, like he's shifted the mouthpiece away from him and it's being brushed against his jaw. "I could insert a very inappropriate innuendo here, but I won't. Just know if you ever feel like calling me 'sir', that's okay with me."

"Noted. What can I do for you, _sir_?" I purr the last word, not as embarrassed as I should be at being so obvious.

"I'm back in town earlier than I expected. I'd like to see you."

My heart thumps erratically, the possibility of being able to see him sooner than I thought I would, and the fact that he wants to see me again at all, both causing the adrenaline to flow. "Did you come home early just for me?" I tease, hoping to find out a little bit more about where he was and why.

"Yes."

His frank answer startles me, and I stutter. "You did?" I cringe at the incredulous tone of my voice, not wanting to give the impression that I'm anything but the semi-disinterested woman I've been trying to portray myself as.

"You told me you're leaving town this week, I was hoping to not miss you before you left. M will pick you up tonight at seven." I'm quiet as I try to fathom the fact that he cut short whatever his plans were to spend time with me, so I don't answer right away. He continues with a small laugh at my silence, "If that's agreeable with you, of course."

"Seven will be fine."

"No argument, Ms. Swan? I don't surprise easily, but I think you may have just accomplished that."

I can't help but laugh. "Well, I have the feeling that it would be futile, and I'd have M knocking on my door regardless." I don't tell him that I'm already watching the clock, anticipating the end of the day.

"Yes, well, if you had said no, I wouldn't send M to knock on your door."

Slightly thwarted, I try to mask the disappointment in my voice. "You wouldn't?"

"No," he says, casually, apparently not realizing how his disinterest deflates me.

"I see."

"Bella," his voice rumbles over the line, "It would've been _me_ pounding on your door if you denied me." I bring my hand up to my heated cheek at his statement, the confident attitude a definite turn on. His ability to dissolve any hope I have of disagreeing or declining him is irritating, but also unquestionable.

It's the exact moment I know I'm going to fuck Edward Cullen.

Maybe not tonight, maybe not for a while, but there's no doubt in my mind that it's going to happen.

Even if in the end, he ends up fucking me.

* * *

Regardless of my stuffed closet, I'm stumped on what to wear once I've gotten out of the shower, because I have no idea what the plans are. I toy with texting him, teasing with a question as to what he expects of the evening, but decide against it, not wanting to show I'm putting as much thought into our night as I am.

I'm staring dumbly at my clothes when the intercom rings. A disembodied voice replies when I ask who's there, telling me I have a package from Mr. Cullen. It doesn't sound like M, but I press the front door release and grab a robe. When I hear the knock on my door, I look through the peephole and see the blond, curly haired man I think was behind the wheel the night Edward visited the museum when M got in the backseat. In his hands is a large box with a red ribbon.

I open the door and roll my eyes. Seriously? The man sent me something to wear? How… bad romantic novel-y of him.

"Can I help you?" I ask, somewhat annoyed, and the blond holds the package out to me.

"A gift from Mr. Cullen. He'd like for you to consider wearing this tonight."

I just stare at him, not moving, not taking the box. "I'll bet. Let me guess. A sexy dress. Or maybe some fancy lingerie."

"I'm not sure, ma'am. If you'd like, I'll bring it inside for you." I know it's useless to protest, so I gesture for the man to come in. I notice he's wearing a black suit much like M does, and he also has the little earpiece and wire attachment running into the collar of his shirt.

"Let me guess," I say, as he places the box on my coffee table. "Your name is 'N' or 'O', right?"

"No, ma'am." I nod, happy he might have a real name. "I'm J."

I laugh at the ridiculousness, but J doesn't crack a smile, so I just thank him and let him out after he tells me he'll be waiting outside, as M has been kept by Mr. Cullen to attend to something.

I stare at the box, envisioning its contents. It's obviously not going to unwrap itself, so with a pull on the ribbon, the bow falls loosely to either side of the package. I lift open the top and laugh out loud at what I see inside.

It's a Chicago Cubs home uniform jersey, white with blue stripes, the big red CUBS logo with the blue circle on the left side. I hold it up and turn it around only to see the name CULLEN embroidered above the large number '1' that graces the back.

My laugh begins to fade, as I feel a bit of apprehension crawling up my spine. Does he know this is something I share with my father? Does he know I'm a fan? Or is it possible he's just a fan himself, and this is a coincidence. There is a game on tonight; so I decide to give the paranoia a rest. I'm excited that maybe he has some really good season tickets. I bring the shirt with me into the bedroom; fishing out my most flattering jeans for what appears is going to be a less formal night than our first.

The implied casual evening doesn't mean I won't put on my best, silky, baby pink underthings. I don't care who Edward Cullen thinks he is, but Bella Swan knows how to get the upper hand if she needs to.

* * *

As expected, J is waiting at the curb standing in front of a car, but it's not the Mercedes I've become used to seeing.

The sleek car from the first night I met Edward is idling outside of my building, the paint black as night and almost matte in appearance. When I come down the steps, J immediately moves to the passenger side door, opening it and waiting for me to climb in. I get nearer and resist the urge to run my hand over the car, wanting to feel the almost velvet texture of this extraordinary vehicle. The word 'Bentley' is embossed on the floor panel, and my eyes widen for half a second before I compose myself.

Mr. Cullen is far richer than I had assumed. Attorney, my ass.

The inside is just as amazing, with the softest leather seats, a small mini bar, and a flat screen mounted to the back of each headrest of the front seats. J tells me to get comfortable and with a quiet thud, closes the door before moving around to the driver's seat.

We start maneuvering out of my neighborhood and soon begin traveling south. I'm surprised we're not headed towards Wrigley Field, and I ask J where he's taking me.

"Mr. Cullen has requested that you be taken to him." I watch out the window as we drive, wondering where in the hell that might be.

J stays quiet while soft classical music plays throughout the car, until he tells me I can change the music to whatever I like or put the television on. I'm content to just let there be background noise, because I plan on a little interrogation session with J.

"So, J," I start, unsure where I'm going to go with this.

"Yes, ma'am, do you need something?"

"No, I'm fine. Just making small talk." I watch as J's eyes meet mine quickly in the rearview but focus back on the road immediately. I decide to start with the most basic. "How long have you worked for Mr. Cullen?"

There's a hesitation I don't understand before he answers. "Several years."

"Are you solely his driver?" Remembering back to the night at the museum where I'd first met Edward, I'm positive this is the same guy that was behind the wheel, while M followed Edward into the backseat. Whenever I've encountered M alone, it's always been in the Mercedes, so maybe that's M's own car?

"I drive Mr. Cullen, yes."

"What sort of places do you take Mr. Cullen to?" I know it's an asinine question, but honestly, I have nothing to lose so I might as well ask.

He shifts a little in his seat. "Art galleries." I can't tell if he's saying this humorously, given how I met Edward, or if he is being vague on purpose, only giving me what I already know.

I turn my attention again to the window, deciding to forget my next question, as surely J is not going to answer what his boss's line of work is, and that really is the most burning inquiry I have. It'll have to wait for the man himself.

Fleeting thoughts of a return to the Chicago Stock Exchange Building to meet him at an office quickly leave me when we don't turn onto North LaSalle, but instead begin to head into the Gold Coast area.

After a few minutes, J drives next to the large smoky glass exterior of the Lake Point building and enters the driveway where he pulls the car around an atrium-like rotunda. I'm suddenly nervous, because this is a residential building, which can only mean I'm about to be taken to Edward's home. I take a few deep breaths and focus my energy on the fact that this might give me the opportunity I desperately need to reach my goal, finding out more about the intangible Mr. Cullen and what he might want with me.

A doorman approaches the car and opens the passenger door while J steps around him to hold his hand out for me. Taking his gesture, I get out of the car and the doorman personally welcomes me.

"Good evening, Ms. Swan."

"Hello." Nodding my head at him, I'm a little surprised to be greeted by name.

"J will escort you to Mr. Cullen's residence." As soon as J lets go of my hand and beckons me to follow, a young man comes from the shadows and whisks the car away.

J leads me into the cool air conditioning of the lobby, passing a seating area and making our way towards the back where I'm greeted by name again by a man at the concierge desk before I follow J to the bank of elevators on the left side of the 'Y' shaped building.

Immediately, the doors open and we step inside the large interior. I'm curious when J doesn't press the top floor, my assumption being that Edward would occupy the penthouse of the ritzy building.

We ride in silence as the soft alarm of each floor rings, and when we approach the sixties, the elevator slows and finally stops on the sixty-third floor. The doors slide open, and J gestures for me to exit ahead of him. We walk down the muted hallway passing only three other doors until we reach the end, where J opens the last one without knocking.

The first thing I see, much like the restaurant, is the stunning view in front of me. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the lake, lining the perimeter of what appears to be an open floor plan living area.

The next thing I see takes my breath away in a completely different manner, as Edward strides towards me, dressed similarly to me in a matching Cubs shirt, his arms devoid of sleeves but gloriously drenched in ink. His jeans are old and faded, his feet bare, and it's all I can do to look thoroughly unaffected.

I scarcely register J leaving and closing the door behind him before Edward greets me. "Bella, welcome." I smile, and make a mental note to examine his arms later. He returns my smile warmly as he strides towards me, surprising me with a soft kiss on my cheek. He's so close, his lips so near my mouth, and I try hard not to turn my head just a tiny bit to get the kiss where I want it. I recognize I want very badly to press my lips to his, so I step back a little to put some distance between us, to assess and stay in control of the situation.

"Two gifts not returned now. You've made me very happy. Now turn around and let me see what I look like on you." His eyes ghost over the open V of my shirt, and he makes no move to hide the fact he's looking at my breasts. I've never been so aware of my nipples hardening at a mere glance, a bit irritated by the fact that I'm aroused by his demanding demeanor. I turn around slowly, keeping my head turned his way as I gather my long hair in my hand to pull it across my shoulder so his name is exposed. I dip my eyes a little, trying to catch up to his game and affect him the way he does me. He swallows quickly, working his jaw subtly back and forth before nodding once.

"So? What's the verdict?" My voice is smoky, unhurried, and I make no move to turn back around as I watch his eyes slide down to rest on my ass.

"I think I was wrong about the sapphires. Your naked skin was begging to be draped in _me_." The way he can disarm me so thoroughly with a repeat of his comment at the gallery infuriates me, but I can't help the visual that comes to mind at his comment. Being draped in Edward Cullen would surely be the deepest notch on my bedpost.

"Well, you sure know how to ease into an evening." I try to look semi-offended, but he sees right through me, smirking and gesturing me to come further into the apartment. He walks me over to a granite bar that separates the living room from the modern kitchen and holds out a stool for me. I look around the kitchen quickly, everything is immaculate and shiny, either newly renovated or barely used.

"This is a beautiful apartment, bigger than mine. I suppose you were right." I shoot him a look.

He shrugs. "M told me when he reported you'd made it home safely."

"How long have you lived here?"

He opens the fridge and a glimpse inside shows me it's filled with mostly beverages. There are a few condiments in the shelves on the door, but little else. "I've owned this place for three years."

Before I have a chance to ruminate on his choice of words, he holds out a bottle of beer towards me. "It's not champagne, but I figured baseball and beer was the better fit."

"Are we not going to the stadium?"

"I thought we'd watch it here, if that's alright. I have a private box," I watch as he opens a few drawers before finding the opener, popping the top off my bottle and handing it to me, "But I don't feel like sharing you with others. Glass?"

"Nah, not the same." I take a healthy swig and he laughs, opening his own and clinking his bottle against mine. "You seem to have a habit of keeping me away from others." He looks confused. "The restaurant. No one there but us? Until you left me alone, that is." I remind him.

He has the sense to look a bit apologetic. "Truly, that was unavoidable. I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening with you. Won't happen again."

Just as I'm about to comment on his deflection of the empty restaurant question, there's a knock on the door and Edward laughs as I look at him disbelieving. "Just the food," he says and yells out for whomever it is to enter.

M comes in carrying a few take out bags and nods politely at me, dropping the bags on the counter and leaving quickly. I wonder if he and J are just standing out in the hall, waiting to do whatever it is they do.

"I took the liberty of ordering dinner, I hope that's alright?" Voicing my agreement, I watch as he pulls out multiple items wrapped in white paper, opening them to reveal probably my most favorite food in the world.

"Portillo's?" I lean over and look, my mouth watering at the sight of the juice from the Italian beef sandwiches soaking into the bun.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I got dipped and dry with some au jus on the side. Hot and sweet peppers too." He points to the last one opened. There's five sandwiches spread out on the counter before me, complete with fries and onion rings.

"I'm a vegetarian."

I expect him to look panicked or worried at my joke, but instead I get a smirk and an eyebrow raise. "I happen to know you very thoroughly enjoyed the filet mignon at Everest."

"And how would you know that?"

"Well, why wouldn't I have checked in with the chef to make sure you had a pleasant meal?"

"If you would've stayed, you'd have been able to see it with your own eyes." He laughs, and looks properly chastised again. He turns and starts opening cabinets, finally pulling down some plates from the last cupboard.

"You have fully reprimanded me. Now, what would you like? We're about to miss the first pitch."

I make my selection, suggesting we cut some up so we can both enjoy a bit of each. We settle in on the leather couch, our food spread out on the coffee table in front of us as he turns on the huge flat screen, already tuned to the right channel.

We watch and eat, making small talk about the action on the field and having a mini argument about who is the better pitcher, Jackson, his choice, or Hammel, mine. I'm surprisingly comfortable with him, and even though my brain is nagging at me to find out more about what it is he's after, I find that I'm enjoying being in his company too much and don't want to have it all come crashing down if the truth gets revealed and the evening turns sour.

Two beers each and two empty plates later, he gets up to clear the food, so I stand to help but he tells me he's got it. It's sort of odd to see him being domestic, and I make a joke that I'm surprised he didn't call M in to help clear the plates. He just laughs distractedly and looks confused as he makes his way around the kitchen.

I take the opportunity to stroll around the space, looking out at the water, darkened by night descending, and walk the perimeter of the room. There's a hallway off the formal dining area that sits next to the kitchen, which I assume leads to the bedrooms. At the end of the living room is a raised area with a few steps leading up to what looks like a small study. Built in bookshelves grace the wall separating the steps from the hall, and I walk over to see what Edward Cullen keeps on his shelves.

There are some books; leather bound editions of the classics, a few small statues and various objects that don't seem to be anything valuable. I look around the room again, taking it all in, and realize it's completely devoid of anything personal. There's generic art on the walls, the kind you'd find at a Holiday Inn. Nothing in the room says anyone lives here, like a pile of mail on an entryway table or a shopping list stuck to the fridge. There's not one framed photograph of anyone.

My comfort ebbs, making me remember the reason I should be here. "So what do you do for a living, Edward? I don't believe we've had a chance to discuss it." I watch his reaction, and he doesn't give anything away. Carrying over another opened beer to me; he stuffs his hand in his pocket and shrugs.

"Investments. I've been very lucky."

He doesn't know I saw that business card stating he was an attorney, so I don't mention it. "I'd say so. You'll have to give me some tips."

His eyes widen infinitesimally before he smirks, his bottle halfway to his mouth. "A tip, you say?"

My face heats at the innuendo, and I roll my eyes at him. "Stock tips."

He holds his bottle out in a 'who me' gesture. "Of course, what did you think I was talking about? You, Ms. Swan, have a dirty mind."

Immediately my mind does turn dirty, imagining the tip I know he really meant. Focus, Bella. Focus.

"Have you always lived in Chicago? I've detected a bit of an accent." I start walking back towards the couch tucking a leg under me as I sit and he follows, both of us turning to facing each other.

"No, I was raised mostly in Cape Town, South Africa."

I can't hide my surprise or interest. "Really?"

"Really. My father was CEO of a financial services company."

"Wow, that's… quite exotic. I've always wanted to go."

"Do you travel often?"

"Not as often as I'd like. My job allows me brief visits, but I've never been able to really enjoy the places I've been." I don't fail to realize he's turned the conversation back to safe topics.

"Travelling is one of my greatest pleasures." He motions to his arms, and I'm grateful I can now truly scrutinize them.

They're covered in vines, the same shading of gray at his throat, mixed with some darker browns and blacks. I'm able to see the parts covered in color more closely; various items on the vines where you'd expect a flower would bloom. The cross on his hand is on full display, and I can see the iron-like details the shading creates, getting lighter as it goes up his forearm and I realize the cross is acting as the base of the vine.

"So what's the story there?" I ask, gesturing with my hand up and down his tattoos.

He holds his arm out and twists it side to side, before pointing at the cross. "Whatever country I find myself in, I get a tattoo that represents something about that place that moves me, or means something to me. The cross, I got in Italy. It's the Manarola Steeple in Cinque Terre." He follows the line of the vine up to the inside of his bicep, where there's what looks like a door flanked by ivy. "This is 'Goa Gajah', meaning Elephant Cave, in Bali. It's a carving of a demon, but the shape gives it its name."

I look closer and can see the outline of an elephant amidst the carving and greenery. "It's beautiful." I'm aching to touch the vine, to lead it to its next destination. He lifts the sleeve of his shirt, and I recognize the one close to his shoulder. "Egypt. A sarcophagus."

"Menerptah."

"It's… pink."

He laughs. "Yes. The pinkish hue is from the red granite used to encase him. He was a warrior, winning battles against Libya. Oh, and a cool fact - he's also noted as being responsible for the first recorded mention of Israel as a people."

"No pyramids or Sphinx for you, huh?"

"Too beige." He smirks.

"What's your favorite?"

"Favorite? I have a few." He stands for this one, and I almost hold my breath as he lifts his shirt, the well-defined muscles on his stomach also graced with the gray and black jungle of vines. He stretches a bit, pulling one side higher than the other. "London, obviously. I just think it's neat looking." The iconic red phone booth stretches across most of his ribcage in a vertical line, more of a cartoon style than an exact replica. My hand twitches, and he notices. "Go ahead, Bella. Touch me."

My eyes meet his, and the burning behind them holds a hint of challenge, as if he thinks I won't. I stand, his eyes following my movement as my hand lightly falls on his skin. The warmth in my fingers grows, as I trace the outline, playing over the word 'telephone' at the top, and trailing down across the latch on the door.

"Do you have any tattoos, Ms. Swan?" He asks, too close, too deep, too hot.

I shake my head, unable to stop my hand from moving from his side to his stomach, where I land on a bunch of deep purple grapes. I look at him questioningly, only to see he's staring at me intensely. "Pinotage grapes. Indigenous to Cape Town. We had vines growing wild on our property. As a boy, I'd eat them until I got sick, but it wouldn't stop me from doing it." He shudders slightly as I let my fingers outline each grape, brushing the skin just below his pectoral muscle.

I note the way his stomach clenches, and how his breathing is getting heavier, more pronounced. I look up at him without moving my head, and I watch as his pupils dilate at my coy expression.

It makes me drunk with power.

"Are you married, Edward?" I ask, breathless, my fingers still tracing along his stomach.

He looks dazed, confused. "Married? No."

"Hmmm."

"Do you honestly think I'd have you here if I was? I may be many things, but I'm not that type of man." He inhales sharply when I lick my mouth with the tip of my tongue and turn my lips into a pout. I can feel him watching me as my attention turns, and I survey the room.

"Well then, Mr. Cullen, sir. Why didn't you take me to where you really live?" I say overly flirty as my eyes snap back to him. "Cause it sure as shit isn't here."

* * *

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**I've got a different rec than normal this week, instead of a story from my archives; I'm strongly recommending an original novel written by two of my FanFic heroes, Jandco and wtvoc, who most recently brought us The Consequence of Miracles.**

_**Failure to Navigate**_**, by** **Kris Leavitt and Jessie Leavitt  
**Amazon description:  
"Before I begin, you have to understand something. What must be understood is that his evil was as apparent to me as his yearning to be angelic."

There is a difference between excuse and explanation. No one knows this better than Catherine Sellers as she recounts the story of her relationship with Thomas Christie to their child.

Failure to Navigate is a fictitious re-telling of a true story inspired by personal letters, authentic medical documents, and verbal accounts from those who have survived. With the late1960s and early 1970s as a backdrop, Catherine and Thomas's romance begins in a whirlwind of underground parties, fast cars, and drug-fueled nights. Things turn dark as Thomas sinks deeper and deeper into his mental illness and Catherine tries to navigate the emotion and violence that comes with it.

The pendulous back-and-forth nature of their relationship is as extreme as the thoughts in Thomas's mind, swinging between the sweetest, tenderest moments of young love to the erratic brutality of abuse. Though he yearns to be "a good, good man," Thomas's attempts at redemption are no match for the depth of his sins.

Thomas's first-hand account and Catherine's perspective from both then and now together reveal the details of their equally sordid and sweet history, bringing into question the black-and-white nature of good versus evil and just how blurry the line between the two can be.

**It's a haunting story, taken from real people and events, showing the destruction mental illness can cause in families and to a first love. I couldn't put it down, and for you angst lovers, I think you won't be sorry to have read it. Available on Amazon.**

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_Well then, Mr. Cullen, sir. Why didn't you take me to where you really live?" I say overly flirty as my eyes snap back to him. "Cause it sure as shit isn't here."_

* * *

He blinks at me before taking a step back, causing my hands to slide away from the tattoo I've been trailing with my fingers.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, it's obvious." I point out the lack of any personal items and the bare refrigerator. "Besides, you couldn't find a damn thing in that kitchen."

"Maybe I'm not used to doing things for myself." He counters with a quick lift of his mouth as he lets his shirt fall, cutting off my view. His hands move casually to his pockets, and I wonder if that's an internally nervous gesture, hiding what he projects to the world.

I snort. "I'm sure you're not, but come on, I'm not an idiot. You don't live here."

"Another beer?" He motions towards my bottle and walks to the kitchen I'm positive he's unfamiliar with. Opening the fridge, he takes out two more and smiles self-righteously at me when he opens the drawer with the opener.

"That proves nothing. You already found it." I can't help the laughter in my voice watching the conceited way he flips off the caps, letting them fly across the counter. "Some truth here, Edward. Or we're done." I sit in front of him on the stool and cross my arms, ready to finally figure out what is going on.

"I do own this condo." He grins before taking a sip of beer, making me wait. "But you're right, I don't live here. It's used for business, mainly."

Quirking an eyebrow, I stare at him, expecting more. When he only stares back, he forces me to delve deeper. "So why did you bring me here? Am I business?"

"Depends on what kind of business," he smirks, devilishly handsome and fully aware of how disarming he is, turning a conversation to sex with one infuriating statement. Before I fully get a foot on the floor in protest, he reaches out and touches my arm to prevent me from getting up. "I was in town and running late. This was the best option." I stand fully, ready to walk away, but the grip on my arm gets tighter. "I'm a very private man, Bella. I don't share every detail of my life with someone I don't know that well. I'm sure you understand."

"I understand nothing. M and J have both been in my home. Hell, you know exactly where I live, where I eat, where I work. I know zip. It's an unfair playing field, and I'm about to concede."

"I admit to having an unjust advantage. But I'm not going to apologize for enjoying the night we've had. To me, it doesn't matter where we are. My business apartment, the gallery, or a fucking empty restaurant I got to spend a half an hour in. It's the company to me, not the place. I wanted to spend time with you. Not a stadium full of people, forgive me." I feel a bit scolded by his slightly terse outburst but hesitant to admit he has a point. He sighs, "I never lied to you, Isabella. I simply did not tell you this was _not_ my home. How does that change the pleasant evening we were having, hmm?" His fingers begin trailing up from where they grip my arm, moving slowly towards the sleeve of my jersey and tickling the back of my arm in the sensitive spot right above my elbow.

Thinking clearly is impossible when his words are harsh but his touch is anything but. My brain tries to come up with something to argue against or formulate the questions about him that are still unanswered, but I come up blank. He sees me struggling and puts his beer down with an audible sound of glass on granite. Moving from his place at the counter to stand directly in front of me, his body is too near while he lifts his arm slowly. His empty hand starts stroking my other arm, the two making symmetrical movements on my skin as his peculiar eyes pierce mine, trapping me.

My tongue runs over my dry lips, trying to help them break free from their silence, and it's not until he begins moving in towards me, his eyes following my tongue, his throat moving as he swallows, that I realize he's just as trapped in this energy between us as I am. Right before his lips touch mine, my hand reaches up and I place one finger against his lips. I try to ignore the softness of his skin as I touch him and the heat of his breath as it brushes against my hand, disregarding my own desire to let him in.

"I'm a very private person, Edward. I don't just let anyone kiss me. I'm sure you understand."

The flare of anger and subtle flash of arousal at being denied as he realizes I've used his own words against him is nothing short of satisfying, but they quickly leave, and I get the impression he regrets letting me see the power I just wielded.

"Forgive me for being so forward," he says coolly, removing his hands and sticking them in his pockets.

"Of course." Another stare down ensues for a brief second. "I think I should go," I say, and move towards the doors, where I know M or J or K or Z will be out there waiting to drive me home.

His voice is strained. "If that's what you want." If I were a gambler, I'd say there's a bit of unhappiness in those blue and green eyes shifting between my own and anywhere else in the room, failing to fall on any one thing too long. I'm slightly surprised when he doesn't try to keep me and begins walking me to the door. So just before he opens it, I turn to face him.

He tenses slightly as I gently grab his hand, pulling it up towards me slowly. There's a look of confusion on his face for a moment until I take it and place it on the V of my shirt, against the naked skin at my chest. His eyes widen slightly before hooding over when I slide his hand under the fabric and let his fingers ghost over silk and lace. "Just so you know," I lean in slightly, so the pressure on his hand increases against my body. "The way the evening was going up until a few minutes ago, you wouldn't be spending the night wondering about the color, like you will be now."

I still feel the heat of his hand as I exit the apartment, the door shutting softly behind me.

* * *

The creaky elevator door rattles in my hand and I greet Alice, hunched over with her magnifying glasses practically touching the canvas.

_The Angelus_ is coming together nicely, and I compliment her as I grab the detailed photographs she's stuck to the frame. "Let me tell you, if I never have to use this damn golden wheat color again, I'll be more than happy," she grumbles, focusing on the field of the Jean Francois Millet forgery.

"He did love his peasant farmers," I reply idly, scrunching my eyes closer to the photo. It's truly amazing what Alice can do, copying each fine line and hint of color that might not even be noticeable to the naked eye.

She stretches as she stands and flips her glasses on top of her head, wiping at her eyes before leading the way to the far left of the loft. She enters her code into the keypad and the heavy iron door opens, the cool air from inside rushing out, and we step into the cold room together. The dim bulb overhead flips on, and I move to open the large safe in the center of the room while she gets the white gloves off the shelf.

Entering the combination carefully, I put my gloves on and pull the original _Death and the Masks_ by James Ensor from inside the vault. The "photograph" Irina's client is ready to claim. Alice deftly takes the edges of the painting and together we lay it down on the metal table inside the room so it's lying face up on the wood frame. I'm always worried about this, but Alice is careful when she attaches a generic painting of hers that she creates just for this occasion, stapling it to the wood directly over the other one, masking what's underneath.

Once she's done attaching it, I take a piece of the fine weave canvas we store in here and wrap that around the painting carefully. We make the crate, nailing two by fours together in a frame and use sheets of plywood on the front and back to make it fit snugly around the 30 x 39 canvas, before securing the top with small nails.

We remove the gloves, and while I print out the shipping labels, along with our TSA 'known shipper status' account number, which clears shipments from pre-approved businesses like ours, Alice locks up the safe and the room after I exit and follows me to the elevator door.

"Don't take any wooden nickels!" she says, her usual farewell to one of us when we're making a delivery.

"Never do, Alice, all they buy is wooden gum," I finish accordingly, our good luck ritual in place. I begin to descend, waving goodbye with my fingers as best I can while holding the slightly cumbersome goods.

* * *

The car ride to the airport is uneventful, just the normal horrific Chicago traffic on a Thursday at six o'clock. My almost thirteen-hour trek to Geneva has a three-hour layover in London on Friday morning, which gives me zero time to see anything, so I'll hang out in Heathrow and will get to Geneva on Friday around five o'clock in the evening. I'm already tired thinking about the trip, but the few days I'm vacationing after will hopefully make up for it.

While we inch along the highway I play with my phone, fighting the temptation to read the texts from Edward I received last night again. I occupy myself instead with one last call to Otis to hold the phone up to my dad's ear, checking email, the flight status, until there's nothing else to do really…

I open the message from eleven o'clock last night_. _

_Not black, would peek right through the white fabric of your awesome Cubs jersey._

_Yes, that would be quite the fashion faux pas._

_Hmm. Not red, same issue, although it would go with the Cubs logo._

_True._

_I'd say blue, for the Cubs again, but also for the sapphires you'd look so lovely in._

_Blue does look good against my skin._

_I'll bet it does. Back to the game._

_Go on._

_Okay, wild guess here._

_Lay it on me._

_Light pink silk trim, the roses on the lace lightly touched with a hint of lilac. _

…_._

_I take it by your silence I'm right._

_Let me guess. X-ray vision in your fake apartment to go along with your stealthy UV business cards?_

_That would be cool! But no, I stole a peek when you dropped your napkin on the floor and bent to retrieve it._

_Ah, so you're a pervert. Good to know._

_Well, you wanted honesty. Safe travels, Ms. Swan._

I smile stupidly at my phone, feeling ridiculous for having what amounts to a schoolgirl crush at reading our conversation. The car pulls up to the curb at the cargo drop off located in an outbuilding of the airport, so I put away my phone and put on my game face.

A helpful rule in getting away with a crime is to act like you're not committing one. It's pretty simple. So I check the crate with the cargo personnel giving my flight information with a calm smile, like there's not a priceless item inside. I'm dressed casually, in jeans, t-shirt, and baseball cap, and try to make myself as unmemorable as possible.

Once that's taken care of, the car takes me to the main gate, where I traverse security with no problems, grab a latte and relax while waiting for my flight to be called. The only tense moment of the whole ordeal really is when we arrive on the other end and go through customs. But Irina has 'friends' that come in handy when we go through Switzerland.

My flight is thankfully on time, so once boarded, I settle in with a book, ready for the long flight to start. The downside to all of this simplicity is that I can't fly first class. The point is to blend in and have no one take notice of me, or what I'm shipping, at all, so I'm stuck in coach.

I'm halfway through chapter one when they announce we've been delayed. A large groan leaves the crowd, especially from the woman sitting next to me, so I smile in sympathy. I'm okay with my three-hour layover, but some of these people are not happy and are asking the flight attendants questions they don't have answers to about when we'll arrive or their connecting flights.

We sit for a while on the tarmac, the natives restless around me. I glance at my watch and see it's been forty-five minutes now, and I wonder if there's something wrong with the plane. The attendants aren't saying anything, and the announcement from the captain has been just to say we're delayed. I close my eyes and wish I hadn't had the caffeine before I boarded so I could nap.

I start daydreaming about Edward, wondering what he's doing and what would've happened if last night hadn't turned weird. I desperately wanted him to kiss me, but having the upper hand was too important to give up. I hope he was as worked up after the texting as I was, and my thoughts turn to imagining him pleasuring himself, thinking of me in my underwear.

A small commotion rouses me and I open my eyes, noticing the passengers around me craning their necks to see what's going on at the front of the plane. I lean my head out since I'm on the aisle and see the attendants standing in a group, talking to someone at the door. There's some back and forth, and when the captain comes out, the people around me murmur various theories.

I'm watching the front of the plane with everyone else when the gaggle of attendants part and airport security starts walking down the aisle. My heart jumps in my throat, and I slump back into my seat, trying not to panic. They could be here for anything. I peek over the seat and see the guard has been joined by a second, and they're quickly closing in on me. I look down at my book before they can make eye contact and say a little prayer. I've never been a religious girl, but at this moment, I'll try anything.

"Isabella Swan?" I hear and quickly open my eyes, plastering a casual smile on my face. Cool, calm, and collected.

"Yes?"

"You're to come with us, please." I debate not making a scene and just getting up, grabbing my small carry on and following them out. But that's what a guilty person would do.

"May I ask why?" I ask innocently, trying to look as confused as the gawkers straining in their seats to see what's going on.

"We need you to disembark the aircraft." The no-nonsense look of this guy and his partner makes my skin prick, and my first thought is that I hope they don't put me in handcuffs in public. I get up and gather my things, thinking quickly about calling Rose. I won't be able to deny the crate is mine, but should I feign stupidity at its contents?

One of the security guards leads the way down the aisle, and the other one walks behind me so I'm caged in. I don't look at any of the passengers or attendants as we exit the plane, and I'm forcing myself to breath deeply, trying to remain as stoic as possible. I don't know shit until they've told me what _they_ know.

They hustle me into one of those little carts used to transport passengers, thankfully without cuffing me. We zip through the gates in Terminal 5 quickly, until I'm taken to what looks like an employee access area. We drive down a corridor and stop when we reach the end, both guards getting out and telling me to follow.

Panic fills me as we exit the doors to the outside and I see a security vehicle in front of me, lights flashing with someone waiting to drive me wherever it is I'm going. I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out why they wouldn't be questioning me inside the airport, and guess that they're taking me to the main security building, where my baggage is probably waiting for me.

I get in the backseat quietly, and the guard takes off, out a manned gate and onto a road that runs parallel to the airport on the other side of a high barbed wire fence. We pull up to a non-descript brick building, one of many surrounding the airport that all look the same to me. I feel for my phone in my pocket and wish I'd thought to text Rose on the drive over, but it's probably for the best, until I know for sure what's going on, not to leave a cellular trail.

The guard opens my door and as soon as I get out, a very familiar black suit is in front of me.

"M?"

"Ms. Swan. This way, please." He beckons me forward and my mind is a jumble. Racing and tripping over itself to make sense of what's going on. Is this it then, the FBI? Some form of CIA? I feel my palms start to sweat and my eyes start to sting, but not from fear alone. I hold my head up high and try not to let my emotions play over my face the way I feel they are, like a kaleidoscope showing all its colors in a swirling pool, colliding and transparent.

The realization that Edward Cullen has zero personal interest in me guts me in a ridiculous, ferocious way, and I have to swallow the bile that forms in my throat, knowing that his concentration on me has been exactly what I've feared all along.

As nothing but a fucking criminal.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**My Ex-con** by counselor

Edward is fresh out of the big house and Bella is his new boss.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I stare at M as he waits for me to work through the conflicting emotions tangling my brain, while the yellow flashing lights from the security car pass over his unreadable expression in waves.

Finally, he prompts me to move. "Ms. Swan, please." I swallow and nod, determined to keep my mouth shut until I get a lawyer, looking down at my shoes as I allow M to guide me across the asphalt. I notice he's directing me away from the brick building the security guard parked at, so I look up, confusion running amuck in my head when I see where he's leading me.

There's a sleek, white plane on the tarmac, the entire inside lit up with the engine humming and the stairway open.

I stop in my tracks. "M. What the fuck is going on?" The tone of my voice is serious and demanding, causing M to cease walking and look back at me, but he quickly turns and makes his way to the bottom of the stairwell, apparently expecting me to follow.

My feet move slowly towards him, my head swimming with various scenarios of what's about to happen, including one that has me turning and running out of here. My gut though is telling me that Edward is on that plane, not in some dismal airport security room waiting to interrogate me. So against what should be me smartly thinking of escape routes, my whole body just wants to go to him.

M makes me go up the stairs first, and I shiver when the stark contrast of the air conditioning in the cabin wars with the heat of the tarmac as I get closer to the top. I step in tentatively, M hot on my heels, and look around quickly. I don't see Edward, and M tells me to take a seat.

I stand there, ignoring him, taking in the plush interior. There are four ivory colored leather seats to my right, positioned so that they're facing each other. I snort in derision when I see J sitting in one of them, the whole evening continuing its epic fuckery. Behind that grouping of seats is another couple of matching chairs with a table in between, and further back I see a long couch made of the same leather stretching against the wall and curving behind the seating area, allowing it to face a flat screen TV mounted on the back wall next to a hallway.

Crossing my arms in front of me, I refuse to move when M passes me, gesturing me towards a seat in the front. He looks flustered, but I don't care.

"Where is Edward."

"I'm right here." My head snaps to the back of the plane, and Edward walks out of the hallway, dressed in a gray suit complete with an amused look on his face that I want to slap right off and kiss all at the same time.

"What is this," I fume, barely keeping my voice at normal pitch.

He looks around the plane and then back at me. "Well, I think it's a plane."

I narrow my eyes at him, not enjoying his flippant attitude. "Why am I on it," I grit out, the panic that has engulfed my body for the last twenty minutes begins to ebb, causing the lingering adrenaline to make me snappish. Part of me wants to sag in relief, but I still don't quite know what's going on, so I keep my body rigid.

"I thought you'd prefer this to a commercial flight." Edward looks at me like I'm daft before moving to one of the chairs near me, sitting and crossing one ankle over his knee casually.

"Do you have any idea…" I trail off, too upset to finish. I shake my head, keeping inside all the fear and distress I just went through, but can't reveal. My head snaps up suddenly. "Where's my stuff?"

"I have them, here." M calls out and I see him standing next to my suitcase and thank God, the crate is leaning against the wall. I storm over and grab them, dragging the crate along the carpet clumsily and start walking back up the aisle.

Edward stands, blocking my way. "Bella, why are you so upset? Do you honestly prefer coach to this?" He's looking at me like I've lost my mind.

"You couldn't just fucking tell me you wanted to fly me there on your own fucking plane?" I realize I'm yelling, but really, he has no idea what he's just put me through.

The stairs lift and someone I don't know latches the door closed. "Mr. Cullen," the man in uniform says, "we've been cleared for takeoff, sir."

"Great, thanks Alan." Edward turns back to me. "Bella, please, just sit down, relax. Trust me, I have no malicious intentions except getting you to Geneva in luxury."

I look him up and down, his arms crossed in front of him with an amused expression on his face and something else I can't detect. Exhaustion and acceptance flood me, causing my mind to begin settling. "Fine. But I'm sitting in the back, alone. And I'd like a very large drink."

He laughs, "You got it." I storm away, clutching my crate and trailing my bag behind me like a petulant five year old not wanting to go to bed. I plop down on one of the chairs near the table farthest from Edward and take a deep breath, willing my pulse to stop racing.

A pretty woman in a blue uniform comes over, smiling at me, and takes my drink order. The engine roars and the plane begins moving, slowly taxiing towards the runway. I glare at the back of Edward's head, angry, until that anger turns into something else.

I let out a shaky breath. The thoughts I had about Edward while in back of the security car run through my mind, and I can't formulate the right words to express how relieved I am that I might've been wrong about his interest in me. Part of me is still really angry at his method of getting me here, but the other part is just exhilarated that it doesn't appear I'm going to the clink. At least not yet.

The lady brings my beverage, and I can't get enough in my mouth through the little straw, so I throw it on the table in front of me and take a huge gulp of whiskey. I'm not normally a whiskey drinker, but a glass of wine wasn't about to cut one string of the tension that pulls at my body, ready to snap.

Edward, M, and J sit in front and talk quietly, leaving me alone as requested. The cabin is silent, and I start to feel at ease, sipping my whiskey and looking out the window into the blackness.

I sit alone for about an hour, staring at the night sky sightlessly moving around us until Edward catches my attention when he slowly walks down the aisle towards me. Sitting opposite and giving me a small smile, I fight the urge to smile back or throw my arms around him.

"What's got you so worked up, Bella?" he asks quietly, like he doesn't want to disturb the silence of the plane.

"I don't know if you realize it, but getting taken off a plane by security isn't exactly fun."

"I'm sorry about that, really. But I didn't know what flight you were on until you'd already boarded."

He looks slightly remorseful, but somewhat pleased with himself as well. "Why am I here?"

"I told you, I thought you'd prefer a long flight on a private plane to sitting in coach." His nose wrinkles in distaste.

I shake my head. "No, Edward." I sit forward in my seat, my eyes trying to convey the seriousness of this situation, and ask again. "Why am I here?"

Edward runs his fingers across the smooth grain of the table between us, meeting my stare with one of his own, until he shrugs and gives me his trademark smirk. "I wanted to spoil you. I wanted to see you. Completely selfish of me."

"So you're just flying to Geneva for no reason? Because that's where I'm going? How did you find that out, anyway?"

"First of all, I have my own business in Switzerland, I go often. Second, you think for one minute I can't find out anything I want to?"

The thought sobers me. I run my itinerary through my head, wondering if he knows where I'm staying as well. My thoughts return to getting hauled off the plane and I gasp. "All those people on the plane, Edward. Delayed because of me. I feel terrible."

He gives me an odd look. "Has anyone ever worried about _you_, Bella?"

I jerk my head back in surprise. "What do you mean?"

He pauses but doesn't directly answer that. "The plane was only delayed due to me for fifteen minutes. It's O'Hare. The flight was already late," he laughs. "One of the many reasons I don't fly commercial."

What he says about O'Hare is true and makes me feel a little better. "How did you get my luggage?" I rub my hand over my forehead. "I'm so confused right now. Who are you that you can stop a plane?" I mutter more to myself.

He has the nerve to laugh at me. "Bella, are you really surprised that I can get anything I want?" I just blink at him, not sure what an appropriate response to a statement like that might be, so I stay silent until he continues. "So, what's in Geneva?"

"I'm meeting with one of Rosalie's biggest clients." Not technically a lie.

"Is that who the contents of that crate is for?" The mention of the wood box leaning next to me puts me on alert automatically.

"Yes."

He nods, but doesn't look at it again. "I really am glad you're here, Bella. I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't have time to make arrangements with you properly." He looks apologetic, so I smile and relax back into my seat. "Refill?" he asks, motioning towards my drink.

"Only if you join me. I… I'm sorry for being pretty much a jerk tonight. You were just trying to do something nice, as you said." I know he's still a mystery, but I can't help how happy I am that I'm one step closer to ruling out him being some sort of law enforcement.

"Nice?" he taunts, repeating my description while raising his eyebrows.

"It's the only word I could think of. I don't know quite how to describe this experience." I look around the plane, noticing new details, like the subdued lighting, the plush carpeting, and the fully stocked bar across from the couch, where the blond now stands pouring drinks.

"Stick with me kid, you ain't seen nothing yet," he says, and throws a wink on the end.

Which just about kills me.

* * *

"Bellaaaa, Bellaaaa." A soft voice invades my dream of private planes and security guards. I realize quickly that I'm lying down and that someone is touching my shoulder lightly.

I turn slowly to see Edward standing over me. He seems fresh out of the shower and his clothes are different, a black sweater with a high collar and buttons on the left of the slight V-neck, paired with jeans. "You don't have any shoes on." My fuzzy brain helpfully points out. "That's weird on a plane."

Edward's soft chuckle fills the room. "I hate shoes."

"What time is it?" I sit up and stretch, noticing I'm in a bed. Memories of falling asleep in the leather chair come to mind, and Edward guiding me through the hallway of the plane to the bedroom in the back. Now that I'm conscious, I look around and see that I'm on a full-sized bed, and the room is furnished with built-in, shiny wood cabinets and drawers.

"It's around four in the morning, Chicago time. We'll be in Geneva in two hours or so."

I do the math quickly. "So we'll be getting in at noon? We didn't need to stop?" I sit up, yawning and trying to assess how bad my hair might be with a pat of my hands.

"Another reason I don't fly commercial," he chuckles, and I'm suddenly warmer when he sits on the bed next to me.

"Where did you sleep? I'm sorry, I took your bed."

"This is the second bedroom."

My eyes widen at the extravagance of it all, and I'm about to comment when I remember Irina's assistant, Gerard. "Oh, crap." I look around for my bag, noticing my crate is leaning against some drawers. I make a mental note to check it as best I can later, when I'm alone. "I didn't call my client. We made arrangements to have me picked up at the airport. And now I'm arriving earlier than I said." I lean over and grab my phone from the front pocket of my suitcase intending to text Gerard the change in plans.

"I can drive you."

I look up at him with my phone in my hand, trying to decide if that's a smart idea. I don't know that Irina would want someone knowing where she lives. "No, it's okay, she's sending her driver."

"I'm sure she'll understand. Besides, I've got a really fucking awesome car."

"Of course you do." He just smiles smugly. "Wait, you're driving yourself?" I say, holding my hand up to my heart in mock surprise.

"I do many things without M or J." The twinkle in his eye suggests he's not talking about driving anymore.

"Too bad," I joke, and he laughs, looking mildly shocked.

"Why Ms. Swan, are you into that sort of thing?"

"I think, Mr. Cullen, that if the opportunity arose, I'd probably be selfish and want you for myself."

His weight shifts on the bed as he clears his throat, and I hope it's out of arousal and not because I just put that out there and made him uncomfortable. He stands easily, but keeps his eyes on me. "Well, that's good. I don't like to share either." My face heats and I'm glad I'm still partially covered in the linens because I'm sure every part of me that can show excitement is doing just that. "Feel free to shower, the bathroom is through there," he points to a door next to a closet. "Come out for breakfast when you're ready." He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

I text Gerard due to the early hour and explain that I have a ride, so there's no need for him to fetch me but apologize that I'll be arriving at Irina's estate earlier than planned.

After a surprisingly roomy shower, I dress in more upscale clothing than my 'don't notice me' gear, anticipating the standards the always impeccable Irina will be expecting, and head out into the main cabin.

M and J are sitting in the front chairs, and there is a breakfast spread out on what was the bar last night, laden with croissants, chafing dishes, fruit, and a coffee station. Before I can reach it, the blond tells me what's in the dishes, asks what I'd like, and promptly tells me to make myself comfortable. I join Edward at the table we were sitting at hours ago, the sunlight of the morning streaming through the windows and brightening the interior of the plane.

The food is delicious; the company easy, as Edward and I chat about nothing of importance while the flat screen plays some sort of financial network on the TV in the background. Edward glances at it occasionally, but his attention is mainly on me, asking me questions about my life without delving too deep.

Where did I go to school, why am I interested in art, things I can answer honestly. I skirt anything that touches on my family or the inner workings of the gallery and direct questions back at him, mainly about where he's travelled, because I find it fascinating.

"So your father was a CEO? What does that entail, when you live in South Africa?"

He laughs and takes a sip of coffee. "The same as it does here. Lots of boring things. Meetings, advising, stuff like that."

"So you don't really know."

He grins. "No, not really. I was more aware of what they were involved in on a philanthropist level. My parents were very involved in helping raise awareness towards the poverty level many in Cape Town chose to ignore, and still do." His demeanor changes as he speaks, showing how serious he considers what he's talking about.

I want to ask if he lends any financial support of his own, considering his obvious wealth, but don't feel comfortable going there. It reminds me of a burning question, one I can possibly clear up. "I saw the business card you handed Leah Clearwater's manager."

Edward stares at me, a myriad of expressions crossing his face at this information. "And?"

"Anthony Masen?"

His eyes narrow, and he speaks guardedly. "I told you, I'm a private person. Ms. Clearwater's manager didn't need to know who was buying her art."

The mood has shifted slightly, and I regret I brought it up, but I can't stop now. "So you're not an attorney?"

"I passed the Bar, but I don't practice, no. Using that card affords me a certain amount of anonymity."

"Why didn't you give me that card? Why did I get the real you?"

He thinks for a moment, seemingly confused. "I don't know. I suppose I had a feeling."

"What is it you need this anonymity for?" His colorful eyes bore into mine, and I see his mind working, deciding perhaps if he's ready to reveal himself to me.

Suddenly, the pilot announces we're to ready ourselves for landing. The flight attendant starts to clear the breakfast away, and Edward smiles brightly at me, excusing himself from the table and ending any further conversation.

* * *

The look on Edward's face as it falls to the car waiting for him after we disembark makes me feel as giddy as he seems to be.

"There she is!" he exclaims, and runs his hand over the odd-colored metal. "Oh how I've missed you, baby." He caresses the car with bright eyes, glancing at me as I walk closer. "This is Stella." He holds his hands out like he's on The Price Is Right.

I can't help but get caught up in his boyish charm and laugh as I stand next to the car. "Nice to meet you, Stella." Edward is grinning like a fool as M and J come down the stairs behind us, bags in hand. I thought it would be odd if I asked to carry the crate myself, but I've kept my eye on it since I checked it earlier.

"M is a little upset he doesn't get to ride in her with me." Edward teasingly says to M, who can't seem to help the pout that twists his face.

"Whatever, E. Just means I get the Spyder." I'm startled by their casual camaraderie and squint at M, trying to guess at their true relationship. M seems to have caught himself and stiffens, making his way to an equally beautiful gray car. I recognize the symbol as being a Porsche. He loads what I assume are their bags in the trunk as J puts my bag in Stella's trunk and carefully puts the crate in the miniscule back seat. Thankfully, it's about the size of a large suitcase and just fits.

"So what type of girl is Stella?" My eyes flow over the lines of the car in the strangest color for a car I've ever seen. It's almost a mint or ice blue while the tail end and doorframes are a metallic gray.

"Stella is fast, sinful, and tight." He winks at me and holds the door open for me to get in. "She's a Bugatti Veyron, Grand Sport Vitesse." I realize my skirt isn't the best option for a car like this, so I try to sit sideways and slide into the low seat, but there's no way Edward isn't getting a show. The quick diversion of his eyes from my legs tells me he tried to peek, and I might fist pump a bit in my head. He shuts the door after me and practically runs to the driver's side on the left.

He starts the car and audibly moans at the satisfying purr, revving the engine a bit and pushing some buttons to activate the in-dash GPS. "So, Ms. Swan. Where are you headed? D'Angleterre Geneva? Le Richemond?"

"Actually, no." I fish out my phone and pull up Irina's information, hoping she doesn't freak out at the stranger I'm dragging along with me. Too late, I realize I should've lied and agreed to one of those hotels he just mentioned.

"The Beauchene estate in Chene Bourgeries. I, uh, don't have an address." Edward presses a button on the steering wheel and within seconds M's voice rings out.

"M, address for Beauchene in Chene Borgeries, thank you." He hangs up quickly and starts to pull away. He guides the car expertly out of the airport gates and proceeds to drive through the congested traffic, quickly making his way onto sparser roads. My body jerks as he steps on the gas; the low car turning corners like they're attached to the road by a track. I glance over and see a look of pure pleasure on his face. His incredible handsomeness makes me dizzy, and I can't help what comes out of my mouth.

"Edward, either you're lying to me about being single or… I just don't know. _How_ are you single? How old are you?"

He looks at me quickly before turning his attention back on the road. We whip past large green trees, quaint rock walls and hidden homes tucked behind greenery on either side. "Thirty-seven. And yes, I've told you, I'm single."

"How?" I repeat, really not understanding how he isn't taken.

"International playboy, right here," he laughs and pokes his thumb at himself. I give him a cocked eyebrow, and his smile falls. He hesitates, but I wait, letting him gather his thoughts, or what he's willing to share, anyway. "It's very easy for people to see all of this," he motions around the car, "and want in."

"And you don't want to let anyone in?"

"It's not that I'm opposed. I just…" he looks over to me, his eyes clear and shining, purveying his honesty. "I have trust issues." That was probably the last thing I expected to hear, so when I'm silent, he continues. "Sure, I can get a sexy little thing who sees this car and thinks about all the money she can spend out of my wallet, but that's easy. I don't like easy."

A beep rings throughout the car and Edward answers M's call. "Rampe de Cologny Five. Left Bank."

"Thank you. I'll see you at the apartment." He pushes the button to end the call.

"You have an apartment here?"

"A tiny one." He smirks, and the moderate seriousness of the last three minutes is lifted. He revs the engine and turns around a hill, heading back the way we came. I gawk at the pretty streets and stores as we pass through town, having never been here before.

Edward clears his voice a bit later. "For the record," he begins, so I turn my attention from the scenery to look at him. "You, Ms. Swan, are very, very difficult."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**On Grey Mornings** by littlesecret84

Bella's tryst with power made her infamous. Hounded and ashamed, she's back in Forks to start over again, but where do you find a clean slate when everyone who sees you already knows your biggest secret? AH, adult stuff.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Edward clears his voice a bit later. "For the record," he begins, so I turn my attention from the scenery to look at him. "You, Ms. Swan, are very, very difficult."_

* * *

The statement hangs in the air as we cross the bridge over Le Rhone, making our way to the Left Bank. My traitorous heart beat accelerates, there's no mistaking he wants to make sure I understand I'm not one of those "easy" catches he could capture with a snap of his fingers or roar of his Bugatti. I also wonder though, if perhaps the word has a double meaning, like so many others of his words do, because yes, my life is in fact difficult, especially if you have a strong ethical conundrum.

I quickly get distracted when Edward points out some landmarks and a huge marina with luxury yachts as we make our way through what appears to be a neighborhood with increasingly large homes. I worry again about showing up with Edward, but there's not much I can do about it now, so I just decide to enjoy these last few minutes with him. I want to ask when I'll see him again, but I don't.

Soon, we're pulling down the drive of a home hidden by rock walls and an iron gate, winding along through trees and shrubs until the house looms before us. It's quite beautiful, three floors with a pale yellow façade. The shutters are a pastel sea green, making the imposing house seem cozy and charming.

Edward pulls Stella smoothly up to the front entrance and cuts the engine, and before I've gotten my seat belt off, I see a man dressed all in black approaching the car. Edward beats him to my side, opening my door and holding his hand out for me to use to maneuver myself out of the low seat. Once I'm standing, the man introduces himself as Gerard, and we shake hands.

His accent is thick, but his English is perfect. "Madame Beauchene is delighted you arrived early, Mademoiselle Swan."

"I do apologize, it couldn't be helped." Gerard moves to the trunk where Edward has already grabbed my suitcase, so he moves to take the crate from the backseat instead. I turn to Edward, not sure of what to say. Thank you seems underwhelming.

Gerard interrupts my quandary, telling us that Madame Beauchene would like to meet the kind friend that delivered me to her home. I have a sneaking suspicion Irina wants to assess who this stranger is I've brought to her property, but I just look to Edward who agrees readily.

We follow Gerard through a pair of distressed wooden doors that add to the cozy atmosphere of the house. Light filters through the many windows as we step into the foyer, and the smell of fresh cut flowers wafts from the round table holding a large vase of orchids and roses.

"Ah Isabella! Je suis contente que vous soyez bien arrive. Bienvenue aux Jardins Beauchene." I understand 'welcome' and return her greeting in French, as she kisses me on both cheeks.

She turns to Edward immediately, and I can see her eyes narrowing slightly and making quick observations. "And who is this friend of yours that so generously delivered you from the airport?" She switches to English and waits for an answer.

Before I can make introductions, Edward takes her outstretched hand. "Jacob Black. Enchante de vous rencontrer Madame Beauchêne." I stare at him as he faintly leans down and kisses the back of her hand, slightly more reserved than when he did it to me at Everest.

"Monsieur Black," she replies, before launching into some French I don't understand. They exchange a few sentences and seemingly misinterpreting my dumbfounded look, Edward translates that she asked him where he'd learned French so fluently. He smirks then, knowing I'm really staring at him due to the fake name he just gave.

Irina waves her hand, beckoning, and turns, leaving us no choice but to follow her into a sunroom on the left. _"What the fuck?"_ I hiss under my breath and he shrugs.

Irina's voice cuts off any answer he probably wasn't about to give. "I keep telling Isabella she needs to learn the language. She doesn't listen to me. Take Isabella's bag to the blue room, Gerard, and put the painting I bought away for me to look at later." I watch as Gerard carries my bag and crate out of the foyer.

"I beg your pardon, Madame Beauchene, would it be rude of me to excuse myself to use your facilities?" Edward asks formally with a warm smile, and Irina touches his arm, obviously enjoying the charm that drips from him easily.

"Certainement, Monsieur Black. Through the foyer and down the hall, towards the left."

Irina and I chat casually about my trip, but I don't share that Edward took me on his private plane; I just assure her there weren't any problems. Soon enough, Edward returns and makes his excuses to leave.

"I have a meeting in just a little while I need to prepare for," he says, apologetically.

"Monsieur Black…" Irina starts before Edward cuts her off.

"Jacob, please."

"Tres bien, Jacob. Would you like to return for dinner tonight? I have a few guests arriving, and I'm sure Isabella would like to spend more time with you."

My eyes go wide and before I can comment, Edward accepts the invite. He turns to me with a devilish gleam in his eye and says goodbye.

"Yes, au revoir, _Jacob_," I emphasize, but he just winks before turning and heading out of the house. A few moments later, the rev of the Bugatti's engine sounds before it faintly trails down the driveway.

* * *

The 'blue room' Irina puts me in is lovely; all the furniture is whitewashed, giving it a cottage feel. Floral fabrics cover the four-poster bed, curtains, and a set of chairs that make up a little seating area near the windows that open out overlooking the front courtyard, and beyond that, a splendid view of Le Rhone. I'm happy to see I have my own en suite, and after a light lunch of cheese and fruit on the veranda with Irina, I take a small nap and get ready for the dinner party.

I call Rose after a shower, catching her at eleven in the morning Chicago time. "Hey you, how was the flight?"

I'm about to tell her about Edward, but something makes me pause. I've never been dishonest with her before, so I'm not sure what it is that makes me pretend I was on that commercial flight. "No problems."

"Great. Irina is happy?" Rose asks, remaining vague due to the cellphones.

"I didn't see her look at it, but she hasn't said otherwise."

"She's probably waiting for her appraiser to come. I bet she's having a dinner party tonight, right?"

"Yes, actually. I'm about to dress. You think she'll have someone here authenticating it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. She did last time. I can't quite recall his name. R something."

"Well, I checked it when I got off… the plane and it was fine."

"Okay good. Enjoy. Her chef is fantastic. When are you leaving for Paris?"

"Irina extended her invitation, but I told her I was anxious, so I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. I'm taking the train."

"Well, have a good time. I'm going to see Charlie later and have dinner. Anything you want me to tell him?"

"Just that I love him and miss him, and I'll bring him some chocolate from Paris."

"Will do. Be safe." We hang up, and I finish getting ready, glad I'd thought to bring some dressier clothing.

I slide into the slim-fitting halter dress, the white fabric adorned with a smattering of tiny blue flowers that get increasingly larger and plentiful as it gets to the hem, which falls above my knee. It's light and summery, but sexy, fitting with where Irina plans on entertaining, outside by the pool in the garden. I'm sliding my feet into a pair of nude pumps when I hear the unmistakable roar of Stella. I hurry to the window, the light breeze picking up the pieces of hair I've left strategically out of my casually messy chignon and lean out a bit.

Edward gets out of the car with ease, and I ogle him while trying not to fall out the window completely. He's dressed much like he was at the gallery the second night, in a dark suit and white shirt, no tie, showing just a hint of the tattoos I know lay under his clothing. He pauses and looks up, obviously sensing being watched, and waves, so I wave back and smile, turning to grab a sweater and make my way to him.

I arrive downstairs just as Edward is saying hello to Irina, kissing both cheeks and being handed a glass of wine by a woman I assume is one of Irina's house staff. He sees me descending the last two stairs and I revel in the way his eyes shift over my body, taking in my dress. "Bella. Vous etes absolument magnifique; vous faites competition a la beaute de notre hôtesse."

Irina laughs gaily and I make my way over to them. "I assume that was a compliment and not an insult." I smile and Irina snickers.

"Watch this one, Isabella. Your Jacob is a tremendous flirt."

"Oh, don't worry, Irina. I intend to." She turns away to greet someone arriving, and I raise my eyebrows at Edward, who hands me his untouched wine with a sheepish look.

"My mother taught me to treat women like they're priceless." My arm hesitates at the word before I accept the wine.

There are nine people altogether at this party, enjoying drinks before dinner in the sunroom while getting to know one another, and Irina introduces Edward and me to her guests. There is a couple who own a gallery in the center of town, a man named Hugo that Irina calls her 'lover' much to my distaste for the title, a man who runs a Swiss bank and his wife, and a man named Ruel, who Irina tells me is an art enthusiast, so I take that to be the appraiser Rose told me about.

I almost slip and call Edward by his name, so I decide to not address him at all if I can help it. I'm still wary, determined to ask him what that's all about but haven't had the opportunity. He's chatting with the bank man about things I know nothing about, so I trail over to the gallery couple, and once they hear I'm going to Paris for the first time, proceed to tell me about all their favorite places. As we speak, I keep one eye on Edward.

Gerard announces dinner is ready, so with a dramatic opening of the sunroom doors, Irina, stunning in a full-length chiffon print caftan that billows behind her, leads us out into the garden.

The best word I can come up with is enchanted as I step out the doors and follow the others as we walk up the little stone steps that lead to a paved area with a large, wood pergola covering a beautifully decorated table. There are lanterns hanging from branches in the surrounding trees and candles laying delicately on the surface of the pool, floating lazily in the light breeze.

Soft music plays from speakers, and if I weren't actually here, I'd feel like I was watching a movie. She directs us to our places, and I see she's put me on her right, with Edward directly next to me. Edward holds out my chair, and I smile at him sweetly before he sits. The table is a bit small for nine, but the feeling of Edward's thigh brushing mine as he scoots in is worth having less elbowroom.

There are flowers and candles on the table, along with mismatched dinnerware that starts Irina on a story of how she's gathered each one over the years from various antique stores in her travels. The funky plates and bowls make the table eclectic and fun, adding to the whimsy of the garden setting.

Conversation is easy as we eat our delicious dinner, and the wine flows freely, making me slightly giddy and definitely bold. I find myself pressing up against Edward's thigh often, but he doesn't seem to mind, telling me so each time his arm brushes mine when there's no need.

He rests his arm on the back of my chair when he leans in to speak with Irina and Hugo, easily charismatic and able to comment on most topics. Most of the table is speaking English for me, but there is some French, especially as the night gets later and the wine gets emptied. I don't mind, I love the sound of the language, and I'm enjoying just watching Edward interact with others. The close scrutiny I employed earlier is waning as the liquor does its job.

He's in an animated conversation about the Euro, or hell, it could be about Winnie the Pooh right now for all I know, because watching his face as he talks is making me feel high. His beauty wraps itself around my body like a ghostly presence, engulfing me and keeping me warm.

The wine, the music, the flora, _Edward_. All of it makes me feel like I'm in another world, another life, and for the first time in a long time, I think about what it would be like to have someone next to me permanently. To go through life with, to experience things like tonight, to be able to lean on someone when it all gets to be too much.

I'm resting my cheek on my palm, staring at him, and as if he's sensing my thoughts, he turns to me, and I don't hide the lovesick smile I've let grow on my face, the wine causing me to not care if he can tell what kind it is. I watch as he moves his hand from around his cappuccino cup to take mine, the warmth from the espresso invading my fingers when his interlace through my own.

"What?" I ask lazily, my eyes not leaving his for a moment as he stares back. I feel beautiful under his gaze, extraordinary.

"Dance with me."

"I don't think there's anything in the world I'd rather do right now." To his credit, he doesn't raise an eyebrow or take the opportunity for innuendo, instead he stands, gently pulling me up after him and leading me off to the side, under one of the snarled maple trees. The dim red and white lanterns swing on the branches around us, the faint rustling of leaves barely sounding over the soft piano.

He pulls my body to his, his hand sliding low on my back and holding my hand up tight between us. He dances beautifully, swaying perfectly in time, turning just a bit when called for, moving me like it's effortless. I'm staring at the tattoo peeking out of his shirt, unable to look at him in this intimate position for fear of doing something stupid.

Something like falling in love on a moonless night in Switzerland with Edward Cullen, Anthony Masen, or Jacob Black.

* * *

The guests start departing, chattering noisily and thanking Irina with huge hugs and loud kisses. We say goodnight to everyone with equal fervor, new friends I feel like I've known all my life. Edward hangs back with me, until it's just Irina and Hugo.

Irina puts her arm around Hugo's waist, pulling him towards the doors. "You two, stay, enjoy more wine, the night is eternally young for young lovers." Her arm flails out towards where we are, the transparent sleeve of her dress floating behind her. I blush at her statement, while Edward just laughs and says goodnight one more time.

The lights dim as we sit there, soundlessly. "I should go," Edward says quietly, not wanting to break the spell of the evening.

I'm mildly disappointed, but agree, knowing it's for the best. I walk him to the door, and he kisses me softly on the cheek, one hand resting on my arm, our bodies close. "You're leaving for Paris tomorrow?"

I nod, my eyes drooping, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. "Tomorrow afternoon. I'm taking the train. It's romantic." I smile lazily.

"Romantic, alone?" he questions, and I remember I led him to believe I might not be taking the pleasure part of this trip by myself during our text conversation the night Alice stayed over.

I could lie, I could let him keep thinking it, but I don't want to. Tonight has turned whatever this is between us in a new direction. There was no fight to gain the upper hand, no game play, just a beautiful evening with a beautiful man. "I'm used to being alone."

He says nothing, just pulls me in closer to kiss the top of my head. "Be safe."

I nod, and watch him as he reaches his car, turning to wave and waiting until I've closed the door securely behind me. I sigh, leaning my back against it before moving to the stairs that will take me to my suite.

I sit on the bed and take my shoes off, leaving them where they fall and lay back. The sheets are turned down, allowing me to feel the softest bedding I've ever had the pleasure to touch. I run my hand across them dreamily, fighting sleep, until I decide they'd feel better if I was actually in them. I move to the window and lower it a bit, but keep it open, allowing the soft breeze of the evening to enter while I shimmy out of my dress and lay it on the chaise in the corner. I put a t-shirt and shorts on and crawl into the bed, sighing and snuggling deep into the fluffy pillows.

A noise rouses me from sleep at some point, interrupting a dream. The sky outside the window is dark and the air free of sound, and a glance at the clock tells me it's a bit past three in the morning, so I close my eyes and drift off again, not caring that I haven't turned off the soft lamp next to the chaise. It's ambient, and I'm too lazy and sleepy to reach for the switch.

I hear a soft creak but make nothing of it, unafraid of foreign sounds this old house is sure to make. I sigh and turn onto my back, the sheets slipping across me and settling just below my shoulders.

Another creak sounds, and this time, I open my eyes to look, my sight first landing on the window, thinking it's the old pair of shutters. In my periphery, I see the distinct shape of a person creeping at the far end of the large room and moving towards me quickly. The figure is hard to see in the low light but whoever it is, is dressed in black, head-to-toe, a ski mask pulled down over their face. I open my mouth to scream, when suddenly the person leaps forward and clamps their gloved hand over my mouth, halting any sound from escaping.

Fear washes through me, my heart pounding out of my chest, and I struggle to think of all the things I should be doing. I should knee them in the groin, but I'm trapped under sheets, so the thumbs in the eyes defense is the only thing I can come up with. I begin to pull my hand out from under the sheet and get ready to lunge.

I focus on the person's face, and once I look at the only part visible through the mask, my own eyes double in size, and what I see makes my breath lodge in my throat and my heart stop.

One blue eye, the color of the heavens in Monet's _Garden at Sainte-Adresse_, the other, the green of the pond in Monet's _Water Lilies_.

* * *

Translations:

"**Ah Isabella! Je suis contente que vous soyez bien arrive. Bienvenue aux Jardins Beauchene." I understand 'welcome' and return her greeting in French, as she kisses me on both cheeks. **

"_Ah Isabella! I'm so happy you made it safely. Welcome to Beauchene Gardens."_

**Before I can make introductions, Edward takes her outstretched hand. "Jacob Black. Enchante de vous rencontrer Madame Beauchêne." I stare at him as he faintly leans down and kisses the back of her hand, slightly more reserved than when he did it to me at Everest. **

"_Jacob Black. So very nice to meet you Madame Beauchene."_

**I arrive downstairs just as Edward is saying hello to Irina, kissing both cheeks, and being handed a glass of wine by a woman I assume is one of Irina's house staff. He sees me descending the last two stairs and I revel in the way his eyes shift over my body, taking in my dress. "Bella. Vous etes absolument magnifique; vous faites competition a la beaute de notre hôtesse."**

"_Bella. You look absolutely stunning; you rival the beauty of our hostess."_

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Honest Liar** **by aWhiteBlankPage**

Bella once told me that there was nothing braver than a flower growing through a crack in the sidewalk. I laughed because she was always giving feelings to things that don't feel. If she was standing next to me, I'd tuck the dandelion behind her ear. Or she'd blow on it and make a wish. A hundred wishes. Or maybe just one.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_I focus on the person's face and once I look at the only part visible through the mask, my own eyes double in size, and what I see makes my breath lodge in my throat and my heart stop._

_One blue eye, the color of the heavens in Monet's Garden at Sainte-Adresse, the other, the green of the pond in Monet's Water Lilies._

* * *

I rip the mask off with the hand that was going to gouge his eyes out, and he speaks immediately.

"Bella, listen to me," he starts cautiously, like he's talking to a child. "If I take my hand away, do you promise you won't scream?"

I nod, unsure if I will or not, but just wanting to get him off me. He lifts his hand and we both pause, waiting to see what I'll do.

My chest is heaving and I sit up, his black mask still firmly gripped in my hand. I hold it up and look at it; still not sure of exactly what just happened.

"Edward… what…"

"Hold on." He walks to the window, and I see he has something in his other hand. I shriek when I make out the canvas with Alice's painting on the front, that he's now holding out the window, about to drop.

I scramble out of the sheets and run next to him, just in time to see him let go. I gasp and grab the windowsill, making out two figures also dressed in black now in possession of the canvas and running from the house. I feel his hands pulling on my shoulders, trying to get me away from the window.

"Was that… was that…" Comprehension dawns, and I start to hyperventilate. "You… just stole…"

"Bella, calm down."

"Calm down? Calm down! Edward!" I huff, my hand holding my heart inside my body. "You…" Just then, a knock comes from across the room, and we both turn sharply at the sound.

"Bella?" We hear Hugo's voice on the other side of the door, and in a flash Edward strips his black shirt off, flinging it over a chair and scrambles under the sheets of my bed.

"You have a choice, Bella," he whispers harshly, his eyes boring into mine. "You can rat me out, or you can give me an alibi."

My head is swimming with uncertainty, disbelief, and every other adjective you can think of that means confused. I look from Edward, shirtless in my bed, lounging like he hasn't just pulled the rug out from under me and back to the door, my mind racing with what I should do. But the biggest thought I have is Charlie, the reason I do this in the first place. If I rat out Edward, Lord knows what he has the power to do to me.

"Bella?" Hugo calls again, and one more look at Edward decides everything. I grab my robe and throw it on quickly, hurrying to the door and opening it just a crack.

"Hugo? Is everything alright?" I say, more calmly than I'm feeling.

"I was going to ask you, we heard noises and saw your light on. Wanted to make sure all was well."

"Ah, yes, everything is fine…"

"Everything is fine, Hugo," Edward repeats from behind me, and Hugo's eyes widen a bit as he cranes his neck to glimpse at Edward, seemingly naked in my bed.

"Oh! Very well, sorry to have bothered you. Bon soir." He quickly walks away and I close the door, leaning against it.

"Oh my God!" I'm mortified, not just because it appears the man I'm seriously attracted to is a thief, but because I'm now probably considered a promiscuous, rude houseguest.

I walk to the bed quickly, hissing. "What the fuck is going on?"

Edward pulls himself out from under the sheets, his pants low and showing off his hard stomach. I swallow, and shake my head, trying to focus. "Bella, listen to me. I can explain, but not now."

I blink at him, and realization sets in. "You used me."

He shakes his head violently. "It's not like that."

"It fucking _is_," I choke, not able to stop the strangled way the words escape my dry throat.

"If you truly believe that Bella, yell for Hugo right now." He stands his ground and points to the door while I waiver, not wanting to give any credence to what I've said but unable to see it any other way. His singular interest in the forged painting at the gallery, the cunning word play, the fake apartment. Oh God, the private escort to Switzerland to ensure what he wanted to steal would arrive safely. It all adds up.

Badly.

Nevertheless, I don't open my mouth. I feel Edward's stare on me, letting me decide, and when I look back up to him, we both know I'm not going to say a fucking word.

He grabs me then, one hand pulling at my neck while the other yanks my hip, forcing me closer as his mouth crashes to mine. His hand splays over my ass, inching the silk of my robe up as he gropes and sucks all the air out of me. I don't suppress the urge of my body, kissing him back just as fiercely. I inhale sharply as he strengthens the kiss, coaxing my mouth open and invading with his tongue.

Just as abruptly, he pulls away, his eyes dancing back and forth across mine, gauging my reaction. "I'll see you soon." He presses a last, hot kiss on my mouth before releasing me fully and grabbing his shirt, pulling it back on hastily. I watch him step up on to the window ledge, and my hand moves to my mouth, partly to keep the sensation of his lips there, but also to contain the rising panic I don't want to let out. He starts to climb down the wall and I lean out after him, watching him deftly maneuver the windowsills beneath mine.

With one last glance back up at me, Edward runs off across the courtyard like the other two black-clad figures, getting lost in the darkness of the early morning hours.

* * *

I don't sleep after Edward leaves, the battle in my mind making it useless to even try. I lay awake until I know Irina and Hugo will be expecting me to join them for breakfast. I put extra concealer on, to hide the heavy bags under my eyes that have formed from lack of sleep and the inevitable conclusion of deception that has settled over me.

Edward is a thief.

I know that makes me a hypocrite, and I have to say I'm not one hundred percent positive it bothers me all that much that he is, not in comparison to the other facts I have that bother me more.

Regardless of that unbelievably hot kiss, he used me; it's plain and simple. I've been played like a fiddle, a banjo, held tight on a short leash just so he could walk me on the path he chose. I wonder about the dinners and the texting, the sexual tension that engulfed us every time we were near one another. Was that in my head? Was that part of his act? How did he know what I was travelling with? There are so many questions running through my mind and I lie to myself, trying to believe that I have no interest in seeing him in order to _get_ those answers.

The bigger problem at the moment is the fact that the painting I delivered is now gone. I have no idea if Irina has discovered this yet, so it's with great apprehension that I descend the staircase, with my suitcase in hand.

I find Irina and Hugo in the sunroom, sitting at a table laden with fruit, pastries, and cheese. They greet me warmly; giving no hint that there's anything awry.

"Irina, Hugo, I just wanted to apologize for the unexpected company I had last night, it was rude of me to…" I trail off weakly; the pretense I spent the night in the arms of Edward slightly painful to allude to.

"Don't be silly. What did you think we left you alone for? The chemistry between you two, my goodness!" She fans herself with the newspaper in her hand, and what she says makes me feel dejected on top of the anger because it was all a lie.

"He must've left just a bit ago, when I looked outside after coming to your room, his car was still here, but this morning, poof!" Hugo makes hand gestures to go along with his exclamation, and I look at him, recognition shifting in my head like puzzle pieces and making me feel sick.

"Uh, yes, just a little while ago." I decline the food, only taking a cup of tea when offered. Hugo's observation means Edward purposely left his car last night. I think back to when we parted for the evening, remembering how he waited outside his car until I closed the door. Now I realize, he was waiting just so I wouldn't see him walking away from it in the courtyard. His alibi firmly set in motion.

"What time is your train, love?" Irina asks, and I decide I can't stay here another minute.

"I'm actually going to take an earlier train, it has a connection in Lausanne for about two hours, but your friends last night increased my enthusiasm to get there," I lie. I'd rather wait at the train station just so I don't have to be here any longer. There's a small chance Edward might come looking for me, most likely only to ensure I'm keeping my word, and the thought of that along with being here when they discover the painting they think they have is in fact not in that crate is too much to fathom.

"I'll let Gerard know."

"Thank you." I nod, and fall into silence.

"So, the painting," Irina starts as she butters a croissant and I automatically tense. "Ruel and I checked it before the guests arrived last night. It's lovely, isn't it? I almost wanted to keep it for myself," she laughs lightly. "He picked it up this morning to take to the buyer, so that is that, as they say. Tell Rose I'll deposit the money in the usual account."

"Yes, okay." I swallow my guilt with the last of my tea.

Oh God, Rose. In all of the chaos swirling around my head, I hadn't even thought about Rose.

* * *

Right after breakfast, Gerard drives me to the train station where I am able to buy a ticket to Paris leaving at eleven forty-five. The lady at the ticket counter tells me I'm just in time for one of the few remaining second class seats, so I splurge on first class which she says is less occupied, just so I don't have to sit very close to other people, something I don't think I can handle right now. I can't even think of having to stop in Montereau as I offered to get some contracts signed for a new collection, I'll have to worry about that on the back end.

While I'm waiting for my train, I find a secluded phone booth tucked in a corner of the bus depot, dial four times before hanging up and finally go through with my collect call to Rose at home on her landline.

"Hey girlie, wow it's early, you okay?"

Shit, I hadn't even thought about the time difference. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"It's okay, how's Switzerland?"

I ramble, trying to ward off the inevitable. "Switzerland is great, dinner was wonderful, you were right about Irina's chef."

Rose moans, "Tell me he made the little tarts with the goat cheese."

"Yes, I had quite a few of those."

"With the wild mushrooms, yes! Oh, I'd kill for one of those right now."

"Listen, Rose, I need to tell you something," I interrupt, not able to hold it in anymore.

"You're not coming back?" she teases, her tinkling laugh hits my ear and my stomach twists, knowing I'm about to ruin her day.

"Um, you may not want me to when I'm done telling you what's happened, hence the call on the landline."

She hesitates briefly, before turning serious. "Spit it out. What's up?"

"The painting. It's gone."

"What do you mean it's gone?"

"It was stolen. I don't think Irina or Ruel have realized it yet, they said they'd wire the money to you this morning as usual and Ruel left before I even came down and…"

"Bella. Hold up," she stops my rambling. "The painting was stolen? How do you know?"

"Because… Edward Cullen is the exact opposite of any sort of law enforcement."

Silence. I hear her breathe on the other end before she speaks. "How so?"

"Edward has our cargo."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" her voice rises, practically squeaking at the end.

"Edward. He has it. He's apparently an art thief." I place my hand on my clammy forehead, closing my eyes and leaning onto the door of the phone booth.

"That motherfucker."

"I… didn't tell you a few things. Oh Rose, you're going to be furious with me."

"Calm down, start at the beginning."

I take a deep breath and start telling her what I should've yesterday, hoping she isn't about to fire me. "I got escorted off the plane at O'Hare, scared the shit out of me. Security took me through the airport; I thought I was going to be handcuffed. I didn't want to call you until I knew I was in trouble. I thought they were taking me to the police or customs or whatever, but instead, they took me to another tarmac where Edward's private plane was waiting."

"His private plane?" she repeats.

"Yes, he flew me to Geneva. I'm so sorry I kept that from you, I'm not sure why I did. I thought you'd worry if I told you he was with me and the crate, and I was still trying to get a handle on what was going on."

I hear her let out a breath, the air passing through her lips in a whistle. "So Edward, what, took you to Irina's?"

"Yes, and he called himself Jacob Black, and she invited him to dinner. So he accepted and then later, when I was in bed, he barged into my room, dressed in head-to-toe black like in a movie and dropped the painting out the window." I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable cursing, yelling, and termination of my job.

"Well that was careless, dropping it like that."

My eyes fly open, stunned. "What? Rose! I'm telling you that Edward broke into Irina's house and stole our painting! Why are you not freaking out right now?"

"You delivered the intended item, right?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"You did what we were hired to do. What happens after that isn't our concern."

"Okay Rose, I'm completely confused right now. What the fuck?"

"I didn't want to tell you or Alice and have you worry, but this has happened before. It's part of the business. I'm just pissed at myself for not putting two and two together sooner where it concerned your little friend. Dammit."

"Are you saying that he's done this to you before?" Now it's my turn for my voice to turn up at the end in a squeal.

"Well, I don't know who it is, but yes, there have been times things have 'disappeared' or they suddenly pop back up for sale by other parties."

"I think I'm gonna throw up." I close my eyes again, the buttons on the phone swirling around in my vision.

Rose has the audacity to chuckle. "Look, it's a dirty pool we play in, my dear, this isn't going to become an issue for us."

"How can you say that? I was the one that brought him into her home! He was caught in my bed!"

"Excuse me?" she chokes.

"Hugo heard noises and came to check on me." I swallow; knowing what I did next is cause for her to finally be angry. "I gave him an alibi. I covered for him, said he'd been with me all night. I couldn't call the police, obviously. And Charlie, I thought about Charlie and what would Edward do if I didn't cover for him with Hugo?" I let out a sob and try to muffle it with my hand, the mention of my father the only thing that ever really rattles me on the emotional front.

"Shh, shh, Bella, you did the right thing. What did you say he called himself?"

"Jacob Black."

"Well he obviously didn't want her to know who Edward Cullen was, which means, she would know _exactly_ who he was." I can almost picture her tapping her nails against her chin, piecing together this next layer of the shit show we've begun to peel.

"Uh, there's something else. He has a second name he's used before. Anthony Masen."

She sighs. "I'm not going to lie, that would've been helpful to know, I could've run it past my father."

"I'm so sorry Rose, I just… I don't know why I didn't tell you everything."

"I do," she laughs. "He was doing everything he could to sweep you off your feet. And I'd say you weren't minding it all that much. The man bought you a very expensive painting. It was obvious your interest in him extended past what we were trying to figure out," she snickers. "You're not that hard to read."

I groan, "Jesus Rose, I meant to tell you about the painting, why didn't you call me out if I was so fucking transparent?"

"I hadn't seen you this interested in anyone other than Charlie in a long time. It was nice," she says simply.

"Well, it's obvious he was using me. I'm the biggest fucking patsy of all time."

"Oh doll, I don't think someone would go to the extremes he did to get to know you if he didn't really want to."

"Bullshit. He was probably enjoying the mind fuckery."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Now we know who he is, and we know he's dirty, so we're a step ahead of him. All _he_ knows is that he stole a painting that you were delivering, a purchased art piece to a paying client, so that should ease our minds a bit on the forgery front, shouldn't it? He doesn't know we have anything to do with _that_."

"I suppose." I pause, relief flooding through me at Rose's blasé attitude towards what's happened. "I can't believe you're being so cool about this."

"Think about it Bella. How is Irina going to report this? She can't."

"But she can stop doing business with you."

"She might, but we do have other options, she's not the only player. And a certain Edward Cullen might have just thrown his hat into the ring. I'd say it's possible we just lucked into another big fish. You said you didn't think he realized the one in the gallery was a fake when he saw it, right? I'm curious to know how extensive his reach into this pool is."

"Well, I pretty much plan on never seeing, speaking, or thinking about him ever again so you'll have to find that out yourself."

"I have a feeling Mr. Cullen isn't going to let you go that easily."

"He can go fuck himself for all I care."

We chat a bit more, I fill Rose in on any other detail I can think of that I've kept from her, which I realize isn't much. The plane, Charlie's painting, and his other name are really the only things I hadn't told her. I'm blown away regardless with how concerned she is to make me feel better about it all and still shocked that she doesn't seem very worried about the havoc Edward might be causing. After she fills me in about her dinner with Charlie we hang up with me promising to call her again once I reach Paris.

Finally on the train, I'm watching the Swiss countryside pass through the window in a four-seater, thankfully empty except for myself, drinking a bloody Mary to help ease my pain. I figure the tomato juice and celery can pass as the food I'm not sure I could keep down if I tried. I can't stop myself from going over every look, every touch, every bit of banter between Edward and myself.

My cellphone buzzes next to me and I hesitate, not wanting to speak to anyone, but it could be Rose calling back or something having to do with Charlie. I put my drink down on the table in front of me and flip it over.

Well if it isn't the prick himself.

I watch as his name flashes, those little graphic lines arcing out of the speaker icon calling to me, beckoning me to answer. After a moment, it silences in my hand, the screen changing to tell me I have one missed call.

He doesn't leave a message.

* * *

The train slows, and they announce we're arriving at Lausanne. I double check my departure time to Paris and settle in a café, ordering tea just so I have something to do with my hands. My phone has gone off another two times since the first, both hanging up before leaving a message. I'm starting to get angry with myself for the fleeting, smallest, stupidest bit of hope I feel at seeing his name; I appear to be justifying his attempts to get a hold of me to mean something they clearly can't. I sigh and take a sip of my drink, sloshing the teabag around inside absent mindedly while I watch the activity surrounding me.

There's a family in the station, a mother and two children about five years old or so, anxiously looking for whoever is arriving on a train. I see a man dressed in a suit walking towards them, and the children start jumping up and down, while the mother is doing her best to contain herself. When he reaches them, he scoops down and lifts both children up, their little arms fling around his neck, and he kisses them both before leaning into his smiling wife, kissing her soundly on the lips. It's not a very chaste kiss, and I feel like a voyeur, but I can't stop myself from watching their happy family.

Was it just last night I had that same dreamy expression on my face like this woman does when looking at her husband? I swallow the pity I feel towards myself, recharging my anger and shift my eyes from them.

I move out to sit in the chairs by the departure screens and watch people come and go in the terminal, rushing about or perusing the magazine racks. I'm being antisocial, using my bag as a sort of 'do not enter' sign on the empty seat next to me, making it an unwelcome choice. People have taken one look at my sour expression and decided asking me to move my bag isn't worth the trouble. I know it's rude... but I just can't care.

It's soothing getting lost in the activity of other people, and I lull myself into a fog, not concentrating on anything in particular. My eyelids grow heavy, and while I know I should stay awake, I can't help but let them close.

* * *

I'm roused from my semi-nap when my hip buzzes, and for a minute I'm disoriented. Looking around the terminal, I see I still have an hour to wait and I sigh, anxious to leave Switzerland. I check my phone quickly and see a text from Irina. Dread shoots up my spine until I open it and read that she's generously arranged for a car to take me to Paris, so I don't have to wait any longer. I selfishly accept the ride as I swallow my guilt and trepidation, just wanting to get as far from here as possible.

I gather my things and leave the terminal, following the ground transportation signs as Irina directed. I decide then and there that I'm not going to think about the ins and outs of what Edward did and try to enjoy myself, something I let happen far too infrequently. I have no idea what that Ruel guy thinks he picked up, if Edward replaced it with something else, or if Ruel didn't even look inside first. My only saving grace like Rose said is that I delivered it, it's been in a few hands since Gerard took it from me, and that's the argument I'll have to stick with if questioned directly.

Stepping out into the fresh air, I see the line of taxis and look for someone holding my name on a sign. I scan the few drivers there, no one seems to be waiting for me, so I walk a bit up the sidewalk to see the ones further down the line.

The Bugatti is unmistakable, sticking out of the line of cars like a sore thumb. And leaning against it, arms and ankles crossed, is Edward. He's smiling at me, like nothing happened the night before: just a pal picking up a friend from the train. I silently curse Irina, who obviously knew he was on his way but didn't bother to inform me of her little surprise. I walk closer to him, noticing how casual he is in a plain white t-shirt, old jeans, and flip-flops. My heart betrays me, increasing its tempo at the mere sight of him. I squash the feeling of relief that threatens to overrun my ire, forcing myself to remember all the reasons why I can't trust him.

My eyes burn, stinging with frustrated tears, but I'm not going to give this man the satisfaction of knowing how much he affects me. I turn on my heel and start walking away.

"Bella!" His voice is laced with surprise as he calls out after me, and I hear the unmistakable slapping of sandals against feet as he hurries after me. "Wait a minute!"

I turn quickly, making him jump back so he doesn't run into me. "Why should I?"

"First of all, because we need to talk. Second of all, because I need to do this." He steps to me quickly, closing the small gap and grabs my face between both of his hands. His lips press to mine hungrily, not even trying to test the waters slowly in case I don't want this. His mouth moves over mine, dangerously erotic, and doesn't let up until I feel myself starting to relent, overwhelmed. He breaks away a moment later, still holding my head. "Hi," he smiles, that cute downturned lip thing he does making me melt even more. "Kissing you again is all I've thought about since last night."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my lustful haze allowing him to take my bag from my hand as he steps back.

"I went to see you this morning. Irina called me an idiot for not driving you to Paris myself, and I had to agree. So here I am."

I ignore the gooseflesh that's broken out on my body from the kiss. "Was that before or after you told her you stole her painting?" I spit out, shaking my head. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper and lean forward. "You're a _thief_."

Edward leans even closer, his eyes on fire and shooting lightening bolts straight into mine. "You mean the painting you and whoever you work with stole first?" My body involuntarily jerks back as all the blood drains from my face with the realization he knows. "Sweetheart, I've been hunting you down for almost two years."

My heart is pounding in my ears and when I don't answer, he relaxes his stance, a slow, steady smile growing on his face like a Cheshire cat.

He grabs my hand with his free one, pulling both my bag and me towards the car. I instinctively walk a few feet before planting myself and pulling my hand from his grasp. "Wait just one second," I demand. "What makes you think I'm getting in that car and going anywhere with _you_."

"Because I think we both have questions." He looks at me smugly; like he knows what he's just said to me won't allow me to just walk away. "Besides, I cancelled your hotel reservation in Paris. You have no choice."

"You WHAT?"

"Cancelled your reservation," he says coolly, with a small shrug of his shoulders. "You don't need it."

I let out a loud, wild laugh; sure everyone in the vicinity is taking notice of the crazy American woman. "Right. I'll just camp out in the street somewhere. Like this entire vacation hasn't been ruined enough by you."

He has the audacity to look amused. "Bella, I promise you, I'm going to make this the best vacation you've ever had. Let me show you France," he smirks, "Edward Cullen style."

"Is that the same as international art thief style?" I hiss quietly, so no one else can hear.

"Don't forget international playboy." He winks.

"I was supposed to go to the Louvre," I say stupidly, not sure what other line of defense I have against him. I think about it for a minute, trying to justify going anywhere with a man that knows the truth. Part of me is even more relieved that all the skeletons are apparently out of the closet, with no more reason for lying further, and maybe I can get the Ensor painting back if I agree to go with him, even though Rose wasn't worried about it.

I don't protest when he grabs my hand again, gently running his thumb over my knuckles. "I promise I'll take you to the Louvre myself."

My body heats at the contact of his fingers on mine and from the way he's looking at me, like I'm all he wants in the world. "Have a caper lined up there, do you?" I sneer half-heartedly, knowing I've made up my mind. This is either the best or the stupidest decision known to mankind.

He laughs loudly and pulls me towards himself, kissing me quickly. "Not this week."

I watch from the sidelines as he puts my bag in the car and opens the passenger side, waiting for me to enter. Right before he shuts me in, he keeps one hand on the door and braces himself on the top of the doorframe with his other, leaning in so that his eyes are level with mine, a pleased look on his face.

"We've got about a five hour drive; time enough for you to tell me all about your little operation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, _thief_." I cross my arms in front of me and smile sweetly, which only causes the look on his face to grow more devilish.

"Takes one to know one and all that, wouldn't you say, Bella?"

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**We Were Here by lola-pops**

Upon waking, there's a brief, blissful period in which you don't yet recall the sins of the night before, but eventually, you have to open your eyes. I'm Bella Swan, seventeen years old, cheerleader. This morning I woke up in the wrong bed.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Edward has the top off the Bugatti, and we're speeding through the French countryside, the warm sun beaming its bright light down upon us. If it's at all possible, Edward is that much sexier as the rays make his hair shine while the scruff on his chin glints golden against his fairly tanned skin. His ink-covered arms are exposed, held straight out with one on the wheel and the other on the gearshift as he makes the engine roar, zipping along on our way to… I don't know where. He won't tell me. The digital display on his dash is telling me we're travelling south though, the opposite direction from where Paris lies. Despite my loud and constant protests, I can't deny I'm curious and loving the tour of the French countryside I'm receiving.

I lift my sunglasses on top of my head to try and hold my hair from whipping me around my face, and wish I had one of those scarves like they do in old movies. I start grinning, remembering that old Audrey Hepburn film, _Two for the Road_, where she rides in a convertible with a pink hat and huge, white sunglasses.

Edward glances over at me and catches me smiling, his mirrored Aviators sitting low on his nose, allowing me to see his eyes when he peeks over them. "What's so funny?"

"Just thinking about that old movie, _Two for the Road_. Bickering couple driving through the south of France. I can relate."

He looks back at the road and chuckles. "Oh, I don't know. I think we resemble _How To Steal a Million_, personally."

"Ah yes, stealing statues from Paris museums. You're into sculpture thievery as well as paintings?" I snicker, trying not to let him discover me ogling the veins in his arms as he shifts.

"Don't forget, she's just as guilty as Peter O'Toole. Maybe more in line with our plot?"

I stay silent, just letting a 'hmm' out at his obvious attempt to get me talking.

"It's inevitable, Bella. You know that, right?"

"What is?" I ask, playing dumb.

He turns the wheel sharply as we speed along, and we fly around a bend, making me lean into him a bit in the small confines of the car. "You know we have to discuss this."

"You forget. I caught you red-handed. You only _think_ you know about me. I'd say you have a lot more to answer to than I do."

"You came with me willingly, because you know you are as guilty as I am, I just had the advantage of knowing it before you did. Don't be sore." I snort loudly, throwing in a loud huff in the process. "But fine, let's get started. Lay a question on me."

I look out at a pasture of cows, thinking of all the many questions I've gathered over the last few weeks. While they're all important, one recent thought keeps nagging at me more than the others.

"Is stealing how you've made your money? I know the question is uncouth," I explain quickly, "but considering the circumstances, I have a right to know what's real and what isn't," I say as I wave my hand around his over-the-top car.

He pauses before he answers, appearing to consider what I've asked. "I have made money stealing things for people, yes. Some things I keep. But when I said 'investments' to you, that wasn't a lie. I come from money, I'm very good with money, and I've built a fortune on legit endeavors."

"And when you said you passed the bar exam?"

"That's true."

"So why then?" I ask the obvious follow up question. He looks at me over the rim of his sunglasses, and the look that crosses his face is dangerous; a toothpaste commercial worthy smile coupled with that boyish excitement similar to the look he had when we first reached Stella.

"For the fun, of course." I try not to smile but my mouth betrays me, turning up slightly which he points out gleefully. His whole art thief/international playboy persona is not exactly _un_attractive, and I'm sure he sees it written all over my face. "Your turn. Why?"

"I still don't know what you mean." He gives me a sharp look, and I just shrug.

"You know, regardless of how we got here, the deception, the games, the…"

"Stealing?" I interrupt.

"Yes, and the stealing," he pauses, and I watch as his hand moves from the gear shift and out in front of me, asking for my own. I stare at it, as he finishes. "I'm really fucking glad we're here."

My hand hesitates before it falls into his, and he moves them, lacing our fingers together and resting them so my palm is on top of the gearshift. I stare at our hands as we shift together, and I can't deny I agree.

But instead of admitting _that_, I smile, turning my attention to the windshield and lie. "Hmm. Jury is still out for me." The sharp snap of his head in my direction gives me the point in this round, making me grin even bigger as I pull my sunglasses back down over my eyes.

* * *

He lets me fall quiet as we drive along and he plays tour guide, pointing out things as we go. A silent truce has formed between us as we enjoy the beautiful country, there's no rush to get the info we both need. Perhaps he's feeling like I do, that once it's all out there, we'll have to do something with the elephant in the room we've caged.

I'm avoiding the big question, the one that is gnawing at my heart and fucking with my head. At what point did I stop becoming a pawn? Or am I still just a chess piece in a game I don't know the rules to?

"Did you really leave because of a business matter at Everest, or had you gotten whatever it was you wanted from me?" I ask, trying to find out what it is he thinks he knows about me without having to outright say it.

"That was truly unfortunate timing. I really did have something that needed my immediate attention. Doing business with other parts of the world lends to time zone issues." I nod, staying quiet. "Hey." He nudges my arm with his elbow. "I told you, I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening with you and get you out of that dress."

"I believe that."

"Good. It's still true." He glances at my body, giving me no question as to what part of his answer he's being truthful about.

I ignore the look he's giving me, cocky and sure, and continue my thought. "But what I don't believe is that seducing me wasn't part of your plan all along."

"I'd really prefer to have this conversation when we get to where we're going. Not when I can't honestly talk to you face-to-face." His sincerity surprises me, because it would be very easy for him to protest my statement, telling me what I want to hear, truth or not.

"Are you ready to tell me where we're going now?" I question, shifting in my seat as much as the little car will allow so I can look at him. His sunglasses are now tucked into the neckline of his t-shirt, and his discordant eyes meet mine with excitement.

"I'll give you a hint if you answer one more question."

"I don't know that I need to know that badly." Shifting back in my seat, I nonchalantly inspect my manicure.

"You're very annoying, do you know that?"

"I call it adorably stubborn. Give me the hint first."

"Okay. Old suntan oil commercial."

"Well, since you're far older than me, I'm sure I don't know it."

He's silent at my insult. "Fine. Beyonce and Jay-Z's favorite vacation spot."

I search my mind, knowing the answer lies in all the rag magazines Alice consumes. "Saint-Tropez?" I ask after a bit, the excitement in my voice barely contained. "I didn't take you for a gossip mag kind of guy. How do you know that?"

"Uh uh. I gave you your hint. Now my question."

"I suppose that's fair. But we're revisiting that bit of information."

He nods, accepting my terms. His arm moves the gearshift again, and the car hums as we downshift on a hill. "Yesterday, you asked me how I'm single. I want to know how a woman such as yourself isn't taken?"

So not the question I was expecting. "Such as myself? What does that mean?" I deflect, trying to think of an easy answer.

"Gorgeous, smart, surprisingly sexy when mad, and devastatingly dangerous when trying to outwit me."

Wow. "Um, I've chosen to not share my… lifestyle with someone else, in a relationship sort of way."

"Well hell, Bella, you really let me in there."

Thinking of a way to word things without telling him about my situation with Charlie, I speak slowly. "I have enough complications that I haven't wanted to add any more."

"I see. Is this a permanent thing?"

"Depends." I look over at him, seeing him waiting for me to elaborate with a hitch of his eyebrow. "I suppose if I found someone that could keep up with me, I'd reconsider."

"Hmm. I seem to have the same thought on the matter."

* * *

"I get one more question before I'm too distracted by the scenery to remember you're here." I say, turning my head left and right, pretty much distracted by the impending port community already.

"Well you'd better make it fast. We're almost home."

"Home?"

"Too late," Edward singsongs, turning right before I have the chance to let his phrase sink in. We crest a hill and are now winding around a street lined by flowering fuchsia-colored shrubs. He continues ahead and stops in front of an iron security gate, where he holds his thumb over a scanner before driving through once they've opened. I realize it's a gated community as we pass two stately homes before reaching the end, where a driveway made of pink pavers begins with high shrubs on either side lending to privacy. I can't see the house for a bit until he turns around a curve and suddenly the driveway expands and reveals a clear view of a large sand-colored home. It's beautiful, but what really gets me is the absolutely stunning view.

Edward smoothly pulls the car to a stop in front of a three-door garage. I don't wait for him to come around my side to help me as I scramble out of my seat and step away from the car, my breath hitching in my throat.

From where his house sits, we're above what I assume is the main part of town. Densely populated, the buildings are mostly sandy colored like his house, with rustic, red tin roofs that line the waterfront. I breathe deeply, taking in the truly spectacular view of exotic Saint-Tropez.

"Holy crow," I say lamely as I feel Edward come up behind me and see him kick his shoes off on the driveway in my periphery. I'm tempted to poke fun at him, until his front is pressed against my back, and my mood shifts. I feel his left hand brush mine, sending shivers up my arm as he grips it and brings it up with his, stretching both of our arms out in front of us. His fingers are clasped around mine, his breath hot in my ear, and he points to the water beyond.

"Golfe de Saint-Tropez." I feel his right hand snake around my hip, slightly moving my body as he moves our fingers and points towards the left where the cluster of buildings lay. "Le Vieux Port, or 'Old Port'. Very beautiful, great people watching. We'll have dinner there one night." His hand moves ours a little more to the left and points in the vicinity of what looks like a marina. "That's a surprise." His lips brush my ear, and I fight to keep my eyes from glazing over in desire.

"Edward, it's simply beautiful. Is this your vacation home?"

"No. I live here most of the time." My heart sinks at hearing this, a strange forlorn sort of ache that he lives so far away. Just then, I hear someone walking behind us, and I'm not surprised at all when I see M, although he's dressed quite differently than he normally is in cargo shorts and a blue button down.

"Hello, Ms. Swan." The look on his face is sheepish, so he obviously knows _I_ know. I wonder if Edward has shared what he thinks he knows about me?

"I think you can call me Bella, now, M."

"Er, right." He grabs Edward's keys and proceeds to take my bag out of the trunk, walking towards the house.

"Come on," Edward says, pulling me by my hand and following M across the pavers towards the back of the house. "This is the best entrance." We go through a gate and I see he's not kidding. I thought the view was stunning from the driveway, but this almost 360-degree panorama is absolutely amazing. It doesn't hurt that there's a clear blue pool a few steps below us on a separate section of patio, adding to the luxurious locale.

"Wait till you see it at night." He leads me to a set of open French doors, and I have to laugh when the first thing I see is a pile of shoes on the floor. "Sorry, I have a tendency to just leave shoes around."

"It's actually kind of charming."

"Ms. Swan, did you just call me charming?" He stops walking to turn to me, smirking and bringing our joined hands up in between us. "If you let me, I'll charm the pants off of you."

"That's what I'm largely afraid of," I declare, wishing to take it back the moment it leaves my mouth.

"I'm large, but nothing to be afraid of." His eyes twinkle as I roll mine at his innuendo.

"There goes the charm, right out these windows."

He leads me through a beautiful, spacious room; the high ceilings are adorned with wooden beams and the floors are a dark, matching hardwood. The furniture is all comfy couches and chairs, mostly pointing towards the view. The fabrics are all a neutral shade, and there are infinitely more _things_ in this room, compared to the Chicago apartment, that screams of real occupancy. We walk through a huge adjoined kitchen, rustic in design with a large reclaimed wood table that is almost medieval looking, antiqued cabinets, and retro-style appliances before he leads me to a staircase in the center of the open floor plan.

At the top of the stairs is a balcony that overlooks the great room downstairs and leads to doors on either side of the walkway. Directing me to the cluster on the right, he lets me pass through a door before him, which opens to a large bedroom with the same hardwood floors that are somewhat covered with a sage green floral area rug. I see my bag propped up already on a bench at the foot of the king sized sleigh bed, covered in crisp white bedding with sage and lilac accent pillows. The walls are neutral, and the furniture is close in color to the wood throughout the house.

"I assume this isn't your room?"

"I may be an international playboy, but I'm not a cad. If you need me, though, I'm only steps away. My bedroom is next door."

"I'm sure I'll be fine." Walking farther into the bedroom, I have to admit I'm torn about staying in my own accommodations.

"Take a moment to yourself, meet me back downstairs when you're ready." He leaves and I move around the room. I peek in to a huge en suite with a stone walk-in shower, a white, claw foot tub, and matching dual sinks before moving to the French doors that mirror the ones downstairs. Pushing aside the sheer, voile curtains, I open the doors and step out onto a balcony I see is connected to the room next door, also sporting the same French doors. I push down my curiosity of peeking into his room and focus on the view instead. If you'd asked me a month ago where I'd be today, I never would have guessed this.

I freshen up in the bathroom before grabbing my phone and sitting on the bed. I take a few minutes and talk to Otis, saying hello to Charlie and telling him a bit about Switzerland. I try calling Rose to tell her Edward is on to us, but I only get her voicemail and decide obviously not to leave that in a message. I don't think this is going to be a huge shocker anyway, so it can wait.

Besides, there's an incredibly handsome, overly confident, frighteningly sexy man waiting to have what most likely will be a mind fuck of a conversation, and I want to get it over with.

* * *

I find Edward lounging alone on one of the outdoor couches, his bare feet propped up on the rattan coffee table in front of him. His phone is pressed to his ear but when he sees me, he disconnects quickly, stuffing the phone into his pocket.

"Let me guess. Smooth talking another hapless female somewhere?" I say dryly, with a hint of bitch.

The look on his face makes me want to curl up into a ball, it's so reproaching. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, Bella. I'm not that sort of guy, first of all, and second of all, I never used you. Not the way you think."

I sit on the chair next to the couch he's on, not trusting myself to sit so close to him in this dreamy locale. Crossing my arms, I lean back, getting ready for the inevitable thought I hadn't wanted to voice but can't avoid now that it's out there, more or less.

"It's going to take a lot to convince me of that, Edward."

He studies me, finally slapping his hands on his thighs. "Fair enough. Come with me." He stands, waiting for me to get up at his order. He doesn't offer his hand, just plays with his phone in his pocket. It occurs to me he does this when nervous.

I follow him through the great room, down a wide hallway with the same dark wood floor and around a corner, where four steps lead down to an open entertainment area with a huge screen and theater type seats, a pool table, and a bar. My quick peek inside shows me there is access to the pool level through some glass doors. We keep walking, past a room that looks like an office, before turning again and descending another longer, tiled staircase. The lack of windows and shift in temperature tell me we're probably under ground level now, and the walls and floor have turned to old stone. I feel like I'm in a cavern as I walk behind him, his height making him duck a bit through an archway until we get to a large glass door. The lighting is fairly bright inside, showing hundreds of wine bottles. He turns the handle and immediately I feel cooler air on my skin. He waves me in and I step into the middle of the room, looking around at all the racks.

"Thirsty?" I ask him, unsure why he's showing me this.

"We'll grab a bottle, or two, on our way out. Come on." He walks past me down a small aisle that reminds me of a cozy library, except instead of books, there's more wine lining the shelves. Reaching the end, he looks back at me with a wicked gleam in his eye. Pulling on a bottle, it doesn't slip out of its space; instead, the whole rack begins to open out.

My eyes widen, and when it's fully opened, he steps up to a metal door with a keypad, quickly punching in a code.

He pulls that door open and all I see is a dark room until Edward steps over the threshold. Suddenly, lights begin to glow, like in a movie theater when the film is over, gradually lighting up the room until they settle on a low, atmospheric setting. I notice a few lights getting brighter as I peer into the room.

Spotlights. Aimed directly at the walls, highlighting at least fifteen paintings. My mouth opens and my eyes widen as I step in, following Edward as he walks to the middle of the room and stands, placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans once again.

Before I can inspect what paintings I'm surrounded by, directly in front of me I see something I almost can't register as being real.

_The Embrace_ by Egon Schiele is hanging on the back wall by itself, encased in a simple, gilded frame, and suddenly I know… he knows everything.

I suck in a large breath and hold it. Slowly letting it out. "The night you came into the gallery…"

"Keep going," he gently prompts, allowing me time to formulate my thoughts.

"You were only interested in this one painting."

"And why would that be?"

I finally tear my eyes from the canvas, only to find him staring at me like the cat that ate the canary, and I have no choice but to come clean. "You came purposely to see it, knowing it was a fake because you were in possession of the original. You'd already bought it from Irina."

"Very good. Now, let's go have some wine and hash this all out, shall we?"

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Three Dogs and a Painting by compass54**

A divorcee painting a beach landscape. A stranger and his young dogs playing on the sand. The story of how a childhood vacation, two mutts, a pedigree pug, an incomplete painting, and an ex-husband all play a part in bringing these two together. A birthday present for Planetblue. E&amp;B AH

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_I finally tear my eyes from the canvas, only to find him staring at me like the cat that ate the canary_, _and I have no choice but to come clean. "You came purposely to see it, knowing it was a fake because you were in possession of the original. You'd already bought it from Irina."_

"_Very good. Now, let's go have some wine and hash this all out, shall we?"_

* * *

"I think I'd rather start right here." I stare at _The Embrace_, the painting he had come to see that first night in the gallery, the one that started it all.

And the one we had already forged and shipped out two weeks prior to his visit.

I turn in a circle, looking at the paintings surrounding me, my eyes dancing from one to the next, barely able to believe what they're seeing.

There's a Modigliani portrait on the wall to my left and next to that, a Corot landscape. I turn to the opposite wall and… "Oh my God. Is that…" My mouth hangs open, and I stupidly point towards the art housed in a simple frame.

"_The Concert_, by…"

"Johannes Vermeer," I finish for him. "That's been missing since 1990. A burglary in Boston."

"Yes," he replies, offhandedly, and I stare at him, my eyes wide.

"That wasn't me," he protests, smiling, and holds both hands against his chest. "But I paid a hefty sum for it."

"It's worth almost two hundred million," my voice is incredulous, choking on the amount.

"I didn't pay that. That's what it would fetch if it were to be recovered and sold at auction."

"I don't even know what to think." Finally finding my feet, I begin walking around the room, looking at each painting. I'm only unfamiliar with maybe three of them.

I land in front of _The Embrace_ again, and my hand rises to cover my mouth in disbelief that he had been the one we'd forged it for; he'd been Irina's client. I hear clinking behind me and turn to see Edward pulling a few bottles out of the racks in the wine room. I return my attention to my surroundings, moving to look at _The Concert_ more closely, in awe of the three musical figures on the canvas that have been lost for over twenty years.

A bottle being opened sounds from behind me, and a few moments later, Edward calls my name. He's holding a glass of red for me to take, motioning me to sit in one of the two leather chairs that I hadn't even noticed in the room until just now.

"I'm sure you understand, but I don't like to have any beverages too near the paintings." He does that downturned corner lip smirk thing and touches the back of one of the chairs so I sit, taking the glass gratefully. I'm suddenly apprehensive, like I've never held wine before and he chuckles. "It's fine, Bella, enjoy. We probably should let it breathe a bit first, but you look like you could use it sooner rather than later." He sits in the other chair and swivels, taking in the room in one rotation before spinning back to me. "Say something."

It's the first time I've detected nervousness in his voice, which is usually so sure and confident. "I'm not sure what to say." It's the truth. I have zero idea what in the heck I'm supposed to do right now, I'm so stunned. "I guess I didn't fully comprehend your… predilection for art theft. It's much more intense than I assumed."

"So you underestimated me, did you?" I look over to see his teasing grin.

"I think that's a fair statement." Gulping my wine carefully, I try to relax, toeing my feet around on the carpet so they swing the chair in a half circle. I focus on the sketch in front of where my chair lands. "Is that a Degas sketch?" I know it is, of course, but I'm still a bit dumbfounded at the sight of the three ballerinas. "He's my favorite. I've always adored this one."

"Yes. That's a legitimate purchase. Not all of this has been acquired illegally. It's just safest to keep here. I really am a collector, like that Leah Clearwater painting I bought you; I bought one for myself, as well. It's in my New York apartment."

Edward picks up a remote from a small, round table between us and soft classical music begins to play from hidden speakers.

"Do you sit down here often?"

He sips and nods before swallowing. "Yes, it calms me. It's my form of meditation."

"What happens when you fill these walls?" I ask, noting the small amount of empty space.

"I'll sell something, maybe. Or move it to another location. Depends on my mood."

My voice comes out louder than I intend. "You have rooms like this all over Europe?"

He taunts. "Not _all_ over."

We fall into silence, sipping our wine and Edward refills my glass, which I seem to finish rather quickly. "Okay," I finally start. "How do you know the painting we had in the gallery," I motion towards _The Embrace_, "wasn't already forged before we got it?" I challenge.

Edward finishes his glass and pours more before settling back in the chair and looking at me straight on. "I had been in negotiations to buy it for a while, waiting for when it would become obtainable, for lack of a better term." He smiles at this, before continuing his story. "I finally got word it was going to become available for purchase and discovered it was showing at The Hale after not having been loaned out for over a year, therefore I was able to narrow down the source. You know I received it at the same time you were showing it, I happened to be in Chicago, so I checked it out for myself. You know what I'm saying makes me right." I say nothing, and he takes my silence as conceding. He tips his glass to me. "Your forger is very impressive."

"You said you'd been trying to find…" I swallow, nervous but knowing it's over. "You've been trying to find my operation for almost two years. How has it been that long if this was so easy to deduce?"

"As I'm sure you're aware, not everything is on that obvious of a timeline. Sometimes I wait quite a while to receive something I've become interested in. Also, lots of times these pieces travel to different museums or galleries consecutively. It's hard to narrow down exactly where along the way it has been switched."

"_Why_ were you trying to find us?"

Smiling, he leans his legs out in front of him, crossing one bare foot over the other. "That's a bit more complicated."

"Well I'm trapped here, in the south of France with you, we have time."

"Glad to see you're getting your spunk back." He winks, and when I remain stoic, he continues. "There have been quite a few paintings I've been interested in attaining, only to find out before I could get them, they'd been forged and the original sold to another collector. Hence, someone got to them first. This infuriates me."

"You use the word attaining. Would that be stealing or buying?"

"Either."

"What does that have to do with us? Surely you must realize we don't advertise what we do in a flyer through the mail."

"It involves you because I don't think it's a coincidence that this has happened to me a few times now. Besides _The Embrace_, someone is aware of what I want and doing what they can to ensure I don't get it. Upon checking back, every piece I've been interested in but haven't been able to get has at some point, gone through The Hale."

"Okay, but why focus on the ones you haven't been able to get? There's obviously plenty for you to have." I motion around the room at the already impressive collection he's amassed.

He leans forward, punctuating his point. "Bella, haven't you figured it out yet? I do anything I want. I _get_ anything I want. When I'm denied, I'm even more motivated. People always want what they're told they can't have." He looks at me pointedly.

The confidence and arrogance of his statement places a hint of excitement within me, and I'm sure he's alluding that I'm one of those things he wants. The power that thought brings is palpable, but I remind myself to stay on topic. "So, this is now just a matter of one-upmanship? A game?"

He laughs, but his eyes are still deadly serious. "More or less."

"So if someone is using The Hale, commissioning things you're interested in… that means…"

"The dear Madame Beauchene," he drawls out and raises his glass in a mock toast.

"So you knew her," I state blankly, trying to work it all out in my head.

"I have done business with Irina, she's gotten me a few things I've wanted, like _The Embrace_ as well as brokering the sales to other buyers of some things I've… taken. Somewhere along the line she's decided to betray my trust, telling someone what I've been interested in and then commissioning The Hale to forge them before I can get my hands on them. Most likely for a bigger payoff from that third party."

I shake my head, trying to understand. "But she didn't recognize you."

"Who did I tell her I was? She knows Anthony Masen. She's never seen me or met me. It's all very covert."

I tick these facts into place one by one, my blood starting to boil with each fitting piece. "Huh."

"What?"

"You knew I was going to Geneva. With the latest toy _you_ were denied, the Ensor painting you just stole out from under her." I stand and put my glass down on the table, suddenly furious. "I'm even more certain now that you've been using me all along."

"Bella, wait, let me explain everything before you decide to believe that."

Spinning on my heel and walking a few feet away, I circle back and throw my hands out in front of me, frustrated. "What is there to explain?"

He takes a breath, working his jaw back and forth, and I can see in his eyes that what he's about to say isn't some bullshit excuse, easily laid on me with charm. There's frustration in his voice when he speaks. "I was expecting some, I don't know, some group of old foreign men holed away in a cabin somewhere in Nice, forging paintings day and night. Never in a million years did I expect to come across someone like you. Witty, confident, not to mention stunningly attractive."

"But the dinner, the illegal caviar, you were fishing me out."

"I will admit, I was." He holds out a hand to calm me when he sees his answer has made me angrier. "I had to know if I was right. But believe me, Bella, _you_ intrigued me the minute you put your card in my jacket pocket. I never for a minute thought that I'd find the female version of me."

"I'm hardly you, Edward. My part is small, I'm not the mastermind," I spit out.

"Maybe not, but you tell me. Could you ever envision meeting someone you could share this with? Someone you could really _know_? Someone that could keep up with you?" He repeats the words I used in the car as he shakes his head. "I didn't. But here you are. Sharp tongued and fucking smart as hell."

His words ring true and soften me a bit against my will, but I cling to the fight. "You were hoping for Ms. Hale."

"Only because I knew she was the owner." He stands and puts down his glass, slowly walking towards me. "There's no luckier man than me that it was _you_ there that night, Bella."

I feel like his prey, as he gets closer, ready to swoop me into his claws and fly me away. His voice drops, the cadence intense as he nears. "Everything about you drew me in. Your mind, your body, and the way you give back as good as you get, but mostly, it's thinking maybe I've found an equal._ That_ is a huge turn-on." His hand wraps around my neck, squeezing gently as he pulls me towards him, his lips brushing mine and making me drown."Tell me you don't want me Bella, before it's too late and I don't let you leave."

My mind spins, thinking of all the reasons I should run out of here right now. "I don't want you at all." I fib, looking him in the eye.

"You, Ms. Swan, are a thief _and_ a liar." He crashes his mouth to mine, and the moan that escapes him shoots right through me, every part of me coming alive and quickly burning. The temperature in the room feels like it's climbing as his arms envelop me, bringing me impossibly closer. His mouth is unrelenting, sucking and taking what it wants, what I'm freely giving. I press my thigh between his legs and receive another guttural sound from him, as I feel his thick cock as it stiffens against me. His hand moves to my ass, pulling me in and shifting so that I feel his solid erection right up against where I want it. My knees buckle slightly, but he holds me up with one hand, while pressing the other against the wall behind me to brace us from falling backwards.

I whimper a little when he pulls his mouth from mine, but I couldn't care less if I'm obvious, and he laughs a little. "Bella, Bella, Bella," he groans. "Don't make me take you here against the wall, we wouldn't want to knock down a painting now, would we?"

"What do I care, they're not mine." I lean in and capture his mouth again, slowly moving my tongue against his. His chest heaves, kissing me back, but I reluctantly slow things down and pull myself from him so that I'm not feeling his hardness quite so thoroughly.

"Let's get out of here." His mouth moves to my neck, and he sucks lightly before placing a soft kiss behind my ear. "I have a lovely dinner planned on the patio, overlooking the port. Let me spoil you before I ravish you anymore."

* * *

Checking my dress in the mirror, I'm nervously anticipating the rest of the night. We still have so much to discuss, and despite that heated session in his secret lair, I'm not about to completely let go of the idea that this isn't still a business arrangement to him. I grudgingly admit I'm wildly attracted to him, which unfortunately I've now confirmed to his ego with my enthusiasm as he kissed me. Perhaps we can have this time together, a brief affair before I leave and we part ways, getting back to opposite sides of the playing field. A time out, if you will.

I raise my hand to my mouth, smiling at the fact that I can still feel him on my lips. The buzz hasn't left me, so I take advantage of the desirable way he's made me feel and put on my off-white gauzy dress. The one with the low scoop neck that does nothing to hide any cleavage, and the one I can't wear a bra with. I would normally put a sweater on over it, but tonight I don't. I feel sexy and daring, slightly crazy, allowing the faintest blush of my nipples to be on display through the material. I clasp a simple gold chain belt loosely around my hips, slide a bracelet onto my upper arm, and slip into my sandals. I smile and pause before taking them off, feeling impulsive, before making my way barefoot downstairs and out into the balmy indigo night.

There's a table set up on the edge of the patio near the iron railing, overlooking the glitz and glimmer of Saint-Tropez as it comes alive for the evening. It's even more breathtaking like this if that's imaginable. The boats in the gulf sparkle with activity, dinner parties or late night cruises, and the lights from the port and across the water on the opposite bank shimmer like diamonds against the blackness.

Edward has changed into casual, loose slacks and an un-tucked, navy button-down linen shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, which show off the veins I've come to love in his arms as they protrude when he uncorks a new bottle of wine. I stand next to him and he skims my dress, his eyes doubling back when they hit my neckline, before gazing at my feet and laughing. The easy, confident way about him is infectious, and I find myself wanting to just skip all these tricky details and get lost in him, giving myself over to whatever this is between us.

"You look incredible." He leans in and kisses me on my cheek chastely, like he hadn't just pressed his dick against me less than an hour ago. I sit after he holds out my chair and he pours the wine, white this time.

"We sort of look like we belong together, don't we?" I wave a hand at his casual clothing and back at mine, the same material covering us both.

He raises his glass and holds it up so I follow, lightly tapping against his. His eyes betray him as I catch him glancing at my chest again, and I can feel the tightening that must become evident under his scrutiny, the thin material leaving no question as to whether or not I'm enjoying his attention.

"Bella, I'm not sure I can form proper sentences if you keep that dress on."

"Want me to take it off?" I smirk, taking a sip from my glass.

"Badly. But maybe after dinner."

A woman in a uniform comes out and Edward introduces her as Madeline, his housekeeper and chef. She places two salads down, and I realize I'm suddenly starved. We begin to eat, soft music and the clinking of silverware the only sound for a while as we both enjoy the meal and the view.

Madeline comes and clears our salads and tells us she'll be back with the salmon shortly. I sit back with my wine glass in hand looking out over the port. "You do realize you've left me with a rather large problem."

"I could say the same thing," Edward says, looking down at his lap so I give him little kick under the table that makes him chuckle. "Seriously, what would that problem be?"

"Someone is about to realize they don't have the painting they paid for."

"I guess that is an issue," he agrees, lightly.

"Thank you for the sympathy. How did you do it, anyway?"

Shrugging, he tips his glass back, taking a sip and swallowing. "I put the top back on the empty crate."

"That simple, huh?" I quip disdainfully at his carefree manner.

"Pretty much." He leans forward, looking at me. "Bella, it's not your problem."

I cock my head to the side. "How so?" I question, waiting to see what his reasoning is.

"Did you steal it?"

"Obviously not."

"Then you're not guilty. Besides, Irina would be a very stupid woman if she were to report a stolen painting stolen, now, wouldn't she."

A greater feeling of ease overcomes me as he basically repeats what Rose has said. It's clear now that they are of the same mindset, and inherently more familiar with the way these things work than I am. I decide to test him further and be a bit honest, gauging his concern for me. "I have a lot to lose if this ends badly," I say, thinking of Charlie.

Edward's brow furrows, like he's contemplating my situation. "The intended recipient will be figuring out shortly that someone else is in possession of that painting. Did Irina check it at some point?"

"Yes, she and Ruel before the dinner party."

"Which proves you delivered it as promised."

"Irina isn't stupid. She's going to put two and two together and figure out my overnight guest is very likely the guilty party, the one person she didn't know."

"Yes, I wish I could see her face when she realizes that," he smiles broadly, looking joyful.

My eyes narrow, looking at him over the table. "That still doesn't really help me, now does it?" I lament, playing victim to scale how troubled he might be for my role in all of this.

Edward sucks in a breath and reaches over, pulling my hand into his. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Bella. What's going on has nothing to do with you. If it comes to it, I'll lie and say I duped you. I'll protect you; I'll take care of everything."

We stare at each other, unspoken words passing between us. I've never had anyone want to protect me before or take care of things for me. It's an odd feeling, but he's saying everything right so I decide to let myself believe he would.

Madeline comes with our entrees, and we lose ourselves in our food again, both of us humming at the delicious flavor. Edward points out some lit buildings below us as he tells me some of the history of Saint-Tropez while we eat and finish the bottle of wine. We sit for a while, just looking at each other, enjoying the silence that's fallen between us now that most everything has come to light. I want to ask about M and J, but I'm getting sleepy and decide I've had enough intrigue for one day.

Edward stands after a bit and holds his hand out towards me, so I don't hesitate, allowing him to fold our fingers together as we walk across the patio and through the French doors. Madeline passes us and says goodnight on her way out to clear dinner, and we walk further into the house, through the great room, and around the corner of the wide staircase.

I'm about to take the first step when suddenly Edward pulls my hand so I'm turned, and he pushes me against the wall. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb moving softly across my skin. My hand moves to his chest, bunching the material of his shirt in my palm. I see the fire in his eyes briefly before his mouth lowers to mine, hot and hungry and coaxing. It doesn't take long to escalate, and soon I'm kissing him back just as passionately. His hands move to my hips and clutch my dress as he presses his hardness against me, grinding and moving while his tongue seeks out mine.

I pull away and take in a stuttering breath while his mouth moves down my cheek and to my neck, where he sucks on the skin right above my collarbone. My hands grip his hair and he moans against me, as one hand leaves my hip and cups my breast roughly. His fingers find my immediately hard nipple and pinch it through the material, making me pull at his scalp with more force as pleasure shudders through me.

"Bella, I need to taste you." His mouth doesn't wait for permission as he licks and sucks on my skin, moving towards the breast he's playing with. He reaches in with his hand and pulls it out over the top of the low neckline, and I moan loudly when he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his teeth nipping and tugging at the delicate flesh.

A sudden clanging of pots from the kitchen startles me, and I remember we're standing in the middle of his great room. The thought that someone can come around the corner at any moment makes me tense up. Edward must feel my sudden hesitation and he pulls his mouth from me, his breath hot on my face as my fingers slide from where they took purchase in his hair.

"I'd say I'm sorry for attacking you…"

"But you're not."

"No."

"I don't seem to have been protesting." We breathe heavily for a moment, disentangling ourselves from each other and I fix my dress.

"It's been a long day, Bella. You must be tired. Besides, I have big plans for us tomorrow. We should both turn in."

I smile at him, a bit surprised that he's backing off but assuming he's doing so to gain my trust further, which I appreciate. As comfortable as I've become with him in such a short time, he's still a bit of a mystery so I suppose it's best to keep him at arm's length a bit longer. We walk up the stairs together, my hand gripping the railing tightly due to the fact I'm still slightly dizzy.

When we reach my room, he kisses me sweetly on the cheek and reminds me he's right next to me should I need him, before reaching in and pulling my door closed after him.

The night air from the open doors of the balcony cools my overheated skin, the lazy breeze causing the curtains to flutter. I leave them open, wanting to enjoy the view when I wake up, and change into a t-shirt before using the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Grabbing my cell and laying back on the soft comforter, I dial Rose's cell and she picks up on the second ring.

"Hey! How's Paris?"

"I wouldn't know," I begin nervously.

"What does that mean? Bella, are you all right?"

"Um, Edward showed up at Lausanne."

There's a pause on the other end. "Did he now. So where are you?"

"I'm currently in the guest bedroom of his home in Saint-Tropez, overlooking the gulf." I close one eye and grimace, waiting to see how she's going to take this bit of news.

"Well isn't that fancy. You had me worried there for a second."

My eyes widen in surprise. "The prick cancelled my hotel reservation and kidnapped me!"

"Gee, Bella, sounds like you gave a good fight," she snorts. "Should I be alerting Interpol?" I hear the sarcasm in her voice and relax, knowing she's not upset.

"Real nice, Rose, laugh it up."

"I told you he wasn't done with you," she snickers.

"Well, take note," I pause, "He knows."

Picking up on the need to be vague, Rose doesn't clarify what I mean. "Well, I suppose we assumed he did or would soon. But how exactly did you come to find this out?"

"Well at first he outright said it, which I denied." Rose hums over the line, listening, "But remember his interest in a certain painting?" I say, alluding to the evening he checked out the forged _The_ _Embrace_.

"Yes?"

"Let's just say he has a lovely wall covering."

"Get the fuck out," she says, understanding me telling her Edward owns the original.

"Yup."

"That doesn't necessarily mean…" she trails off, and I know she's wondering the same as I did, how did he know it was _us_ that forged it.

"He did his homework. He's been doing his homework for almost two years, apparently. It was undeniable."

"Is this something to worry about?"

I think about his secret room and all of the ways I could expose him. "No. I think we're on the same side of the fence, however our friend in Geneva seems to be an issue for him."

"Really," she says slowly, and I can practically hear the gears moving in her head.

"Yes, she hasn't been loyal where he's concerned."

"Interesting."

"You almost sound giddy."

"Well, this is sort of fun, isn't it?" Leave it to Rose to focus on the intrigue. She and Edward would really get along swimmingly.

"Honestly? Not so much for me. I'm concerned about the fact that this isn't as necessary for him."

"What do you mean?"

"He's playing checkers, while I'm playing a very serious game of chess," I say. "He doesn't have a 'Charlie'. His reasons are all very much sport."

"Have you stressed your concern?"

"A bit, without revealing too much."

"Which you don't want to do," she surmises.

"No."

"So what now?"

"I suppose I enjoy my time on the French Riviera before getting to Montereau for those contracts."

"Don't worry about those. I'll have them sent to me. You just take advantage of your host's generosity, and maybe find out if there's any way to further our business."

I laugh. "Always thinking, boss."

"Of course."

We hang up, and I step out onto the veranda before turning in, to take one last look at the city and sort out all the information I've been fed tonight, trying to make sense of it all. Now that the haze of his company has lifted, Edward's cavalier attitude towards what he does isn't sitting well. He says it's all a game to him, but it's not to me. It's the most serious thing in my life, what I do with Rose and Alice.

I begin to overthink and pace; warring with telling him why my part in this isn't something he can treat so flippantly without a thought to the consequences. I swallow bitterly, wondering if I have to tell him about Charlie to get him to understand the seriousness of what's at stake for me. I know I'm not going to sleep, filled with anxiety until I convey the importance bound to me, so I walk across the cement balcony towards his room. It doesn't even occur to me how rude I'm being as I step through the doors, quickly scanning the large space to see his bed as well as a group of chairs gathered in front of a stone fireplace void of Edward.

His bedside lamp is glowing dimly, and I see the clothes he was wearing earlier draped over the end of the bed. I hear the shower running, and I look towards where the sound is coming from, seeing his bathroom door wide open. I have a direct line of sight, and what I see makes my thighs clench together and my stomach twinge with want.

Behind a large glass-enclosed shower is Edward, very naked and very wet, with his very rigid cock in his hand.

He moves up and down his shaft quickly, his other hand pressed against the glass wall as he strains and grunts, his body facing my direction.

I'm rooted to the spot, unable to move or look away. It's one of the hottest things I've ever seen, and I stare, until his eyes open and land on mine. My heart leaps in fear that I've been caught, and I expect him to start yelling, but instead, he hesitates for a brief moment before he continues stroking, staring at me. He slows his pace, giving me a show as his eyes hood and grow hungry. I'm breathless as I watch, my lungs void of air I can't seem to find. He palms the head of his cock as he moves, sliding around the tip and pulling the skin taut as he rubs himself. His eyes are burning my skin, challenging me to look away as his speed increases.

He begins to pump his fist, his hips jutting forward as his climax steadily grows, and I'm filled with unmistakable satisfaction at the prospect that he's excited by me watching him as his thrusting becomes frenetic. Without warning, he throws his head back and with a roar, he comes and comes in lengthy bursts that fall to the shower floor while he continues to stroke and groan.

He lowers his head as his chest heaves in effort, his hand still gripping himself, but the pace declines rapidly. Finally, his eyes reopen and latch onto mine, his mouth twitching while a very pleased smirk firmly spreads across his face.

"Did you need something, Bella?"

My desire quickly makes me forget the reason I was seeking him out in the first place, and I find myself abruptly taking off my t-shirt and panties, leaving them on the floor.

His eyes widen in surprise as he watches me approach, but he recovers, opening the shower door to allow me in. I'm barely under the spray before he presses me to the wet tile, his mouth clamping onto mine ferociously. His fingers slide across my skin, making circles as he gets lower and nears where I ache for him. One finger slides against me, making me clutch onto his shoulders, as he pulls back to look down. "So bare, such a bad girl." His other fingers join the first on my smooth skin, teasing and playing around the opening.

I moan at the sensation, and his other hand grabs my leg to put my foot up on the built in seat, giving him greater access. He moves gently against me, before thrusting a finger inside.

He looks back up to my face and watches as my eyes start to close. "No, Bella, watch what I do to you." Kissing me quickly before pulling away, I follow his lead so we're both watching as he slides another finger in. His cock begins to harden again, and the sight of it so near my body combined with the plunging of his fingers causes me to feel the beginning of my orgasm, the swiftness of its arrival unexpected.

"That's it, Bella, let that sweet pussy clench around my fingers." His words do me in, and I moan his name loudly as the waves of my orgasm flow over me. He rubs a little less, easing his pressure until I feel the loss of his fingers as they leave me.

My own fingers are digging into his shoulders so I move them down his arms, and the lustful expression on his face lets me know he's anticipating my hand around his cock.

Instead, I grasp his hands and bring the one that was in me to my mouth, sucking on his fingers as he curses loudly. I lean in to kiss him when I'm done, letting him taste me on my lips.

"You taste perfect," he whispers against my mouth, and I kiss him one last time before pulling away.

"Thanks for that. I always have trouble falling asleep in new places." I let go of his hands and push the door open, grabbing a towel before wrapping it around me and picking my clothes up off the floor. "Goodnight, Edward."

I hear him laugh behind me as I walk across his room. "You fucking little minx. Next time I won't be such a gentleman and let you go that easily."

I wave my fingers at him as I reach the doors, and call back. "I'm counting on it."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Creature of Habit** **by EZRocksAngel**

Bella begins working for the elusive and distant Edward Cullen who she discovers is hiding behind an elaborate charade to maintain his secret lifestyle. Bella is determined to find out the mysteries of Edward Cullen but with what results? AU, OOC.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Needless to say, after having returned from Edward's room last night, I'd slept beautifully. I wasn't so sure if he did. The thought makes me snicker, and I lounge in bed for a while, thinking about the shower encounter while watching the sun come up. Eventually, I rise, making my way to the bathroom.

After a decidedly less fun shower experience, regardless of the luxury the one in my room holds, I'm dressed in my robe and brushing out my hair as I step onto the balcony, figuring it to be the safest way to avoid Edward before having to go downstairs, just in case he's a bit grumpy. I look at the scenery, breathing deeply and taking in the splendor laid at my feet, before finally gazing over the patio to look at the beauty that is Edward's pool.

Big mistake.

The sun has newly risen, barely waking the birds, but there is Edward, swimming down below. I lean on the railing to watch him, refreshingly unobserved for a while. His arms are reaching out in front of him in long strokes, the water glistening in the early light as he glides across the pool. His back is magnificent, adorned with more tattoos I ache to discover up close, the muscles flexing and stretching as he cuts through the bright blue water.

He stands after three laps, in the shallow end near the exit, the depth of the pool hitting just below his waist. My eyes don't leave him as he makes his way up the steps only to bug out at the discovery that Edward likes to swim sans suit.

_Fuck me. _

From my perch above him, I can see again how well-endowed he is even when he's not hard, making my heart thump and other things as well. I hum as he runs a towel over his body, finally wrapping it low on his hips and striding towards the doors to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Bella," he calls out suddenly without looking up at me and here I am, busted again. _Crap!_ Before I can loosen my grip on the railing and turn to go inside guiltily like a kid caught staring at porn on the Internet, he comes back out and looks up, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun that's just climbed over the roof above me.

"Breakfast will be ready soon; we're going out on the gulf. Wear boat-appropriate clothes."

"Um, okay," I reply stupidly, before deciding we should have that talk I wanted to last night before we do anything else. "I need to talk to you."

He ignores me completely. "Make sure you wear flat shoes."

"What?"

"You'll want rubber soles," he says, and I can see the smirk on his face, the telltale sign that he knows he's fucking with me.

"I understand the concept of being on a boat. We seriously have something to discuss," my voice rises, testily.

"I'm sure we do, but first things first." He leaves to go back in, only to come back out one more time. "Oh, do you have a bathing suit with you?"

I frown, doing a mental inventory on my suitcase. "I think so."

"Hmm. Okay, if not, I can have some things brought from town for you to look at."

"What the hell? I'm not Julia Roberts; you don't need to send me on a shopping spree with jaunty music playing in the background."

"You sure are a pretty woman," he laughs at his own joke, and I can't help but smile.

"That was terrible."

"Yes, I have to agree. Now come on, get moving. Breakfast and then we're out of here no later than nine o'clock." This time, he goes back into the house and doesn't reappear. I start sifting through my clothes, pulling out a three-quarter sleeve shirt and capris. I'm grateful for his joking manner this morning; it's obvious he's not holding a grudge over last night. I grin, feeling smug about leaving him wanting in the shower.

"Oh Bella?" I hear from outside and step onto the balcony, looking over the railing and back at Edward. "That's two shows now and one orgasm I've given you. You owe me."

I really should've known better.

* * *

Edward drives to the marina and parks in a reserved spot before coming around to my side to help me out.

The sun is higher now, the sky bright and clear blue as Edward takes my hand and we walk towards a line of beautiful boats bobbing on the water. We make our way down a dock with a few walkways jutting out, each holding a number of larger boats but also containing empty slips. The last time I was on a boat was the week before my parent's accident; a fishing trip I didn't know would be the last. I begin to tear up and slip my sunglasses on so Edward doesn't see. I've always loved the water, and regardless of the excitement in this adventure, I wasn't prepared for this to make me a bit melancholy. These boats are vastly bigger than the barely motorized boat Charlie owned, and I smile at the memory, wishing he could be here to see these, for he'd surely be in heaven.

We walk the sun-washed wood plank all the way to the end, stopping at the last boat tied to a metal cleat. It's sleek and sporty, certainly larger than any boat I've been on, but I'm pleased to see it's not one of the monstrous yachts anchored on the other side.

Nonetheless, I have to laugh. "This is almost bigger than my whole apartment."

"So I've heard," he jokes and I swat his arm before he pulls me along, helping me step up onto the deck. He looks so happy as he readies us to leave, directing me to pull up the ropes he's untied while he stands where the controls are and starts the engine. The smooth machine churns to life, and he pulls away from the mooring expertly.

"Are we headed anywhere in particular?" I ask, climbing up the narrow staircase and sitting next to Edward, who remains standing at the wheel.

"Nope. Just out on the water. I thought you'd like it." His eyes gleam and he turns the chrome wheel to the left, while using the throttle to increase our speed. "Would you mind making mimosas?" he asks, and tells me where the refrigerator is located below deck.

After grabbing the champagne and orange juice, I search the cabinets in the moderately-sized galley for glasses. I've noticed quite a few things such as all the dinnerware, some pillows, and a crest on the wall have a particular French phrase on them, and when I return with everything, I ask Edward what it means as I pop the champagne.

"That's the name of the boat. _Manoeuveres Astucieuses." _When I show no comprehension, he clarifies, but not before giving me a sly look. "_Artful Maneuvers_."

I have to laugh at his choice. "Fitting."

Clinking our glasses together, we sit in silence as he navigates out of the tightly packed gulf, and once we're clear of other traffic, Edward sits in the captain's chair next to mine. I'm amused when he kicks off his shoes immediately, lifting his feet up to rest on the control panel in front of him while lazily steering. "Shouldn't you be wearing like, a captain's jacket or an ascot? And maybe one of those boat hats."

"What, like Thurston Howell the third?" he laughs.

"Yeah. You don't look very boat-owner-y." I pull at the material of his striped button down. "A pink polo shirt and khakis at least."

"I'm not sixty."

"Yet." I smirk.

"Very funny. Are you suggesting that I'm robbing the cradle?"

My breath hitches. "That would imply you had intentions to rob it in the first place."

"Haven't I made that clear yet?" he asks, shaking his head at me before leaning in so that his beautiful whisker-scruff face is mere inches away from mine. "I have a lot of intentions towards you, Ms. Swan. Mostly dirty, but some… honorable."

I hum before taking the bait and leaning in, our mouths moving slowly against each other before a loud blast from a nearby horn causes us to break apart and we lean away. "Please tell me you brought a tiny bikini with you." He looks like a puppy pleading for a treat.

"I might've."

"On second thought, it's okay if you didn't. This is the French Riviera. Nudity is almost mandatory."

"Good to know. Too bad there are what, boats everywhere?" I motion out towards the numerous ships gliding in the water.

"Fuck that. I own this thing. If we both want to prance around naked, who is anyone to argue with us?"

"Why don't we start with the bikini first and go from there?"

He pulls away, pouting and takes a long sip of his drink. "If you insist, but my way would be more fun."

"So you _are_ a nudist!" I tease. "And here I thought it was strictly feet."

"I think last night and this morning proved I have no problem being naked."

My face heats at the mention of my private show in his bathroom, and I suddenly remember why I was going there in the first place. His display this morning, his inability to let me have the conversation, not to mention the surging emotions of being on the water again has made me forget all about my concerns about Charlie.

"All joking aside, Edward," I start.

"Uh oh. You're getting all serious on me."

"I have to. I just need to make something clear. Despite the fun we're having together, this isn't a game to me, like it is to you. I can't afford to just write off what Rose and I do and say 'oh well' if it goes bad. What you did could've very well bit me in the ass." I give him a piercing look when I see he's about to make a joke, and he turns the wheel a bit before pulling the throttle back, slowing our speed and dropping anchor.

He turns his head to look at me, giving me his full attention. "Tell me why this is so earth shattering." When I don't say anything immediately, he takes a sip from his glass and carries on. "Let me guess, family issues?"

I stare at him blankly; surprised he's close and not surprised all at the same time. I think about M, maybe he did betray my trust that day they hung up Leah's boat painting. I shouldn't have expected loyalty from him, that's my own fault. And as Edward has said, there's nothing he can't do. It's possible he already knows about Charlie from his own recognizance. "Why do you assume that?"

"Bella, I'm not dumb. I know it's most likely that you've gotten involved in this because of something important to you. If it were the same entertainment as me, I'd have known about you long ago." He straightens from the lounging position he'd fallen into and shifts away. I feel the loss from his closeness immediately. "Tell me your story."

"There's no story."

"Humor me. I think by this point you realize I can find out anything I want to." My eyes narrow, sure now that he does know. "But I want to hear it from you."

"I think there are still a lot of unanswered questions _I_ need from you." I deflect, even though part of me does want to tell him. I just... can't go there yet.

"Go for it." He smiles and gets up, walking down to the lower deck, giving me no choice but to follow him. He sits on a cushioned bench with nautical pillows and puts his feet up on the table in the middle, while I sit uncomfortably a few seats away.

I start with the obvious. "What's with M and J."

"They work for me." He shrugs.

"I think I figured that out." I roll my eyes.

"You know I grew up in Cape Town, right? And that my father was the CEO of a financial services company. RMB Holdings."

"Not the name, but yes, you'd said that."

"My parents were big into the community, especially helping the underprivileged."

"I remember you telling me that on the plane. You got quite… passionate when talking about it."

"It's close to my heart. Emmett and Jasper were both living in a home for boys when I met them. We were all around nine or ten." I can't stop my expression from showing astonishment as he continues. "I was out shopping with my mother one day, and there they were, begging on the street. J was doing a little dance while M was slapping his hands on his thighs, making a beat. I thought it was the neatest thing I'd ever seen." He smiles at the memory and his hands slap against his legs, showing me what M was doing. "I was intrigued by these two kids, my age, living that way. I couldn't comprehend it.

"My mother gave them a few rand." At my questioning look he explains. "South African currency. Enough to get them a bite to eat or some clean, bottled water. Anyway, we passed them a few other times on different occasions and my mother started letting me watch them while she went into the stores. I don't really remember how exactly, but somewhere along the way we became friendly. My mother and father were good people…"

"Were?"

"They've passed."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. So they were good people and when they saw a friendship developing between us, they started hosting some of the boys and the nuns that ran their home, bringing them to the house to play, feed them a good meal, etcetera. Eventually, my parents were won over by them much as I was, leading M and J to come live with us and ultimately, my parents took them on as their wards."

"Wow," I say, not expecting that tale at all. "Did they consider adoption?"

"Yes, of course, but it's not that easy down there. There's a ridiculous amount of red tape, record keeping is crap, and it was working fine the way it was. They don't remember their parents, both left at the home several years prior, and no one really ever told them anything, nothing is well documented in the poor communities like I just said."

"Why don't you just call them Emmett and Jasper?" I laugh, thinking about the covert spy names.

"I guess it was my nanny that started calling us E, M, and J." He shrugs and laughs. "It stuck."

"So now they work for you? That's not weird, seeing as how you all grew up together like family?"

"It wasn't always that way." A guilty look crosses Edwards face. "I eventually left for the states to attend Princeton. My mother's parents had immigrated to New Jersey when my parents where newlyweds, and it's where I was born, actually. M and J didn't have the education to attend a nice college, so they both joined the South African Navy. We kept in touch, of course, but it wasn't until a few years after I'd finished college and law school, and they'd finished their tours that I returned to Cape Town when my father died. By this time, I'd already begun my hobby," his eyes twinkle as he says that, making me roll my own, "And it was just a natural thing that M and J kind of joined me and became my partners. While J was in the Navy, he'd become an expert at computer engineering, useful in the deactivation of security systems, and M was just a big bruiser, so it was a clear progression to him becoming my security as my wealth and business grew."

"So, they live in the house with you now?"

"No, those two houses beyond the gates near my own are theirs."

"Why the French Riviera? Why not stay in Cape Town where you all grew up?"

"My parents were French, which makes me a dual citizen, and when my father died, I bought this house so my mother could live her remaining years in her country. I put M and J on the payroll, so they'd have legal working visas. They officially work for the EMJ Corporation."

"That's quite a story."

"Is it?" He shrugs and takes a sip of his mimosa. "It's just my life."

"Well it's a far cry from mine."

Edward looks at me for a moment before squinting. "Tell me about it, Bella. Tell me why you got involved in such a risky business?"

"I was poor. End of story."

"Nice try."

We sit in silence for a minute while he waits for me to elaborate, which I am tempted to do, but in the end, I give him nothing except what I need to. "Edward, my reasons are very close to my heart, to use your phrase," I pause. "I can't jeopardize in any way what I do."

"I understand that."

"No, you don't."

"Because you won't tell me."

"Because _this is not a game to me like it is to you_," I scoff, motioning in his direction, my defense mechanism whenever Charlie is involved automatically setting into place.

Edward's voice rises, taking on a slightly offended tone. "Why do you assume I'd let it be anything less serious for me where you're concerned? How can you not trust me yet? At all?"

"I think we're both dumb if we start trusting each other," I huff.

A flash of amusement crosses his face, fueling my anger. "You really think that?"

"Maybe." I tilt my head, stubbornly. "Maybe this is a mistake," I lament, waving a hand between us.

"Okay, Bella." He grins at me before standing. "I'll give you ten minutes."

"What does that mean?" I ask nervously when I see him moving towards the cabin.

"Oh, I'm going to make a few calls while you go in the bathroom to get in that bikini, that had better be tiny as hell, before you lay out in the sun and think real hard about all the fucking ways I've led you to believe you can't trust me. Let me know what you come up with when I get back. And when you realize you're wrong, it's your turn to let me in."

I stare at his back as I watch him start to descend the steps, both hands gripping the doorframe above before he jumps down the remaining few and out of my sight.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Stolen Secrets and Shattered Dreams** **by FoxxyJ**

A NYC barman views his mind reading as an isolating cancer, until he meets a lonely 28yr old trying to escape her sad reality. His life is full of harsh lessons. Hers an uphill battle, so she never complains when a beautiful boy pushes her away time and time again. EXB AH

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_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

After he leaves it takes me a few minutes to realize what just happened. I stand and look out over the water, and I can't deny I feel a bit chastised. My mind works, thinking about what he said. What has he done to make me distrust him versus everything he's done to show me differently?

I change into my swimsuit and relax in the lounger, doused in some sunscreen I found in the bathroom because Lord knows I can't let the sun touch my pale skin for too long while I wait for his return.

The boat is bobbing gently on the wake caused by passing sailboats and luxurious yachts as I work out my thoughts. Some of these other ships are just mind boggling with their decadence. There are plenty of sun-kissed beauties on the decks of these boats, laughing and tanning, walking around in skimpy bikinis or simply topless. The whole thing is exotic, from the people on the other vessels to the houses on the banks, clearly the richest of the rich. I'm in awe as I look around and wish I could figure out how to just fucking enjoy this. I think about my original plan, about having this fling and walking away unscathed, keeping Charlie protected, but I don't see how that's possible.

Edward is gone longer than he said he would be, so I turn on my stomach and undo my white bikini top, hoping to get a hint of color. I feel sad that this might be ending sooner than I like, if I can't bring myself to open up. I contemplate what he's said about trusting him, thinking about everything that's happened since we got here. My thoughts trip and stumble, coming to conclusions and then debunking them as soon as I think I've figured out what to do.

"Bella, as lovely as this picture is, I don't want you to burn." I turn my head and glance up, squinting against the rays at Edward's silhouette as the sun is blocked behind him.

"I'm covered in 50 SPF. I'm practically bulletproof." I yawn and drop my head back down, stretching my limbs out in front of me. "But I probably should turn over." It's then that I remember I untied my top. Feeling mischievous, I start to move, twisting until I'm on my back before propping myself up on my elbows. "Are you going to join me?" I raise one hand to shield my eyes from the bright light and look up at Edward, who surprisingly is looking at _my eyes_.

I, however, don't return his polite gaze; instead, my perusal travels down his shirtless body, enjoying the way his bronzed skin glows where there is no ink.

"You might want to cover yourself," he says, handing over a towel.

"Seriously?" I laugh, incredulous.

"Bella, that conversation we had before…"

Fuck. His manner is serious, not the carefree Edward I've come to know. "What about it?" I tense and grab the towel, laying it over my breasts, feeling suddenly stupid.

Edward sits on the next lounger so he's facing me and rests his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing back and forth against each other. "I feel like I've bullied you, and I should apologize."

I let my jaw slacken but close it quickly. Edward seems contrite, almost worried. I sit up, holding the towel against my naked torso. "What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't make this a tit for tat. You don't need to tell me about your situation, how you got here. It's a very personal thing, and I don't want you to think that I take your reasons, whatever they are, lightly. You said this isn't a game to you, and I want you to know that I respect that."

I look at him, the sincerity in his eyes shining through as I contemplate his words. Maybe whatever this is, is salvageable after all. What he's just said speaks volumes about his character, making everything else obvious. I realize now why he was so incredulous at my distrust. "I'm going to ask you again, are you using me?"

"No, I told you that," he says, slightly frustrated. He swallows before standing and pacing to the other side of the boat where he flips his sunglasses down to look out over the gulf. A short burst of angry laughter escapes him, the sound getting lost over the water. "Un-fucking-believable."

I smile at his back. "You showed me your vault."

"Yes, my vault," he repeats, a bit snarky. "Not to mention my brothers, my life, my plane, my fucking home…"

I nod. "Yes, you did."

"Okay, so?" He asks, turning back towards me. I hate that he's shielded his eyes from me.

I shrug and pull my legs up under each other, sitting criss cross. "What you said… about all the ways you've led me to believe I couldn't trust you. I didn't realize how badly _I_ could screw _you_ over. I was only thinking of how you could do me in."

"Apparently."

I shrug again. "I didn't really see it that way, I didn't think about the chances you were taking, showing me all of it."

"Do you see it now?" he snaps, making me flinch.

"I do. You've trusted me all along."

He waits a moment, looking at me before speaking. "How did you finally come to this conclusion?" He steps back over to the lounger next to mine; sitting so he faces me once again.

"You got what you wanted, the painting, right? You could've just taken that at the airport, leaving me on the public plane only to find my crate 'missing' at baggage. You made sure that I wouldn't be held responsible with Irina. Also, you wouldn't have brought me to your home and showed me something that, let's be honest, I could make a fucking hefty profit from if I were to tell anyone about your art room. You're right. The way I figure it, you've shared more with me than I have with you. You've taken all the risk and are now allowing me to feel as safe as I need to be."

"Go on." He smiles, the smugness rolling off of him in waves while I roll my eyes.

"Also, you could've taken advantage of me at any point yesterday. In the art room, on that staircase, after I cockblocked you in your bathroom. You haven't."

"Is there anything else?"

I swallow. "You're not pushing me to tell you about my reasons for doing this, even though it's impossibly unfair, this imbalance I've created between us." I bite my lip and he slides his sunglasses back up, his eyes falling to my mouth. I take a big breath, laying it on the line. "And I don't think either of us can deny the chemistry between us. I doubt you're that good an actor," I say, getting one last dig in.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and it's all I can do not to cradle that jaw and plant my lips against his. "You're a very smart woman, you know that?"

"I do." We stare at each other a moment, before I speak. "Let's have this week, Edward, just this week, to forget about what you do, what I do, and why we shouldn't be doing _this_ at all."

Edward's eyes narrow at my words, his hands squeezing together tightly before moving one hand up to rest his chin upon.

"I suppose then, that it's okay if you want to remove that towel."

"Too late, buddy."

"Damn. I'm too gentlemanly for my own good."

"Yes, it's a shame, really. That's what you get for being so much more mature than me."

Suddenly, Edward is on top of me, straddling my chair with his legs on either side of it. I watch as he takes two fingers and gently picks up the edge of the towel covering me, barely lifting it from my skin as he lowers his head to deliver a searing kiss that ends much too quickly. He lifts back up and slowly pulls the towel from my body.

"Fuck, Bella. You truly are beautiful," he groans before tossing the towel aside and trailing two fingers around my breast, avoiding my hard nipple. "Your skin is so warm from the sun."

"Edward," I moan, shifting under him so that his fingers will move.

"Yes, Ms. Swan?"

A sigh escapes me; his pure, sexual rawness makes me unable to filter what my body wants. "Lick me."

His eyes snap to mine, voracious and fierce. He kneels on either side of me on the chair, and I watch as he lowers his head, his eyes remaining on mine as his tongue leaves his mouth, licking from the underside of my breast, across to the side of my nipple and up my chest. "Is that what you wanted?"

"No."

"Perhaps you should be more direct then."

"Lick my nipple. Actually, I want you to bite it." As soon as I've said it, I feel his mouth sucking on the pink flesh, hard and ready for him. He encloses the whole area with his lips, his tongue flicking against the hardness until he pulls back and gives my aching flesh a small kiss.

"Better?"

"I didn't feel any teeth." I move my hand to the back of his head, weaving my fingers into his hair and pushing him back towards me. With a groan, his teeth scrape against me and I moan loudly as he clamps down, a sharp sting encasing my breast. I rub his head, keeping him on me, and he soothes where he bit with his lips and tongue.

My hips begin to move and he takes the hint, laying his full body weight on me. I can feel his cock through the thin swim trunks he's changed into, hard and poking at my equally thin bikini bottom. He shifts a bit, tentatively feeling me out, and when I raise my hips to meet his, he quickly grinds himself against me.

"Oh, hell yes!" I throw my head back at the sensation, as he moves over me slowly, digging in and up while still keeping his mouth firmly attached to my breast. He pulls back and looks at my face before moving in close.

His words ghost over my mouth, his eyes hooded as he watches me. "Like that, Bella?" He punctuates his question with a slow swirl of his hips, his cock heavy against me.

"So good, Edward. You feel so good." One of the hands I've got on his head moves down to his ass, gripping it in case he has any ideas about stopping.

"Baby, there are people everywhere."

"Don't care. It's your boat, right? You said fuck it," I pant, the sensation of him rigid against me causing the tension in my body to build and rise, higher and higher.

"Fuck, I love hearing you say fuck." His mouth crashes to mine, his hips continuing to move against me as I spread my legs further and pull him in closer as my ankles lock together behind him.

My hands move all over his back, touching his heated skin and sliding down under the waistline of his trunks. The feel of the muscles under my hands as he clenches and pumps against me makes me close my eyes involuntarily at the sensation, and I search blindly for his mouth.

I feel his lips on mine, his tongue immediately seeking my own, and locked together above and below; I start to moan as my orgasm hits me. "Goddamn it." Edward says against my mouth before pulling back to watch me as he makes me come, grinding against me, slamming his body into mine until his own orgasm begins, his eyes closing and his breath fanning my face in sharp bursts until he holds it, ramming his hips against mine hard and leaving himself there, finally exhaling and relaxing his body as he comes down.

"Jesus, Bella. You're gonna kill me. I haven't dry humped since I was a teenager." He laughs, burying his head into my neck where I feel him smiling against my skin.

"Yeah I guess _that's_ been a long time, huh?" I giggle, feeling a bit like a high school girl myself.

He lifts his head and shifts his body so he's not pressing all of his weight against me, as he tickles me in the side, making me yelp.

"Be prepared for what a decidedly UN-high school-aged Edward can do to you. I let you off easy just now."

"Oh yeah?" I challenge, looking down at his trunks.

"Oh yeah. Just wait until I slip inside you, Bella, and fuck you silly. I'm going to _own_ you."

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After taking turns in the bathroom and a change of trunks for Edward, he makes a light lunch for us, and we eat as he moves the boat around to another location so we can see the other ships in the gulf. He points out some he's familiar with and rattles off statistics and jaw dropping features some of these ginormous yachts contain within.

He points towards a huge yacht a few hundred yards away. "Remember hint two?"

I think for a minute, the second bottle of champagne making me fuzzy. "Oh, the vacation spot of Beyonce and Jay-Z?" I question.

"Yup. Over there. That's how I knew that."

I shield my eyes and look at the boat. "Holy shit. Do you know them?"

"Not really. We're just two ships that pass in the night." He smirks and laughs.

"Thank you, Barry Manilow." He looks surprised that I knew the song reference. "My Mom," is all I say, and he nods, letting it drop. "But that's no excuse for you. Who'd have guessed a sly art thief could be so damn corny?"

"You've uncovered my deepest secret." He grins, before he gets an excited look on his face. "Hey, do you want to steer?" He directs me to sit on his lap in front of the wheel, showing me some of the gauges and the throttle before pointing out where I should head towards. It's not particularly difficult, we're just going straight, but again I think about how much Charlie will enjoy hearing about this. I contemplate asking Edward to take our picture, but decide against it, best not to keep too many memories for… after.

We cruise around for a while, Edward pointing out that we're actually in the vicinity of Cannes where I gape at the coastline for a bit.

"There's a party tomorrow night, I'd originally declined, but would you like to go?"

"Yes, if you want," I say, excited by attending a ritzy party in Cannes.

"I want what you want. I'll tell M to let them know."

As we languidly make our way around the gulf, his mouth isn't ever far from my neck, licking and kissing my salt and sun-touched skin while I make a point to shift on his lap. A lot. He finally stops me, pushing me off of him and smacks me in the ass, telling me it's time to turn back. I relax in the other chair and wave at other boats while Edward grumbles about men looking at my naked chest. His jealousy, even though it isn't real, is cute, and I smile the whole way back.

Pushing away the taunting thoughts of my own words.

_Just this week_.

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Girl Code** **by LayAtHomeMom  
**_**(I have it on good authority my girl is hitting the complete button on this tonight!)**_

Friends are forever, boys are whatever - unless it's Edward Cullen. Then the gloves come off.

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_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Edward requests that Madeline serve dinner again on the patio, giving me a few hours to nap, call Charlie, and take a hot bath in the beautiful clawfoot tub. There's an assortment of French bath products in a glass cabinet, so I load the water with bath salts and soak until it gets cold, getting high on a vanilla-infused cloud.

My bones feel like jelly as I don my robe and sit on the bed, moisturizing with a sweet smelling lotion thicker and silkier than anything I've ever bought at Walgreens. There's a knock on the door, and since I'm covered and assume it to be Edward, I call for whomever it is to come in.

Madeline enters with a tray, holding another glass of champagne and a small plate of cheese. "Monsieur Cullen thought you would like to nibble before dinner." She places the tray on the bench at the end of the bed. "This is made in a town called Languedoc, about four hours away. It's a goat's milk cheese and one of Monsieur Cullen's favorites," she explains in her thick accent before excusing herself and leaving the room.

I take a sip of the champagne; positive that Edward is trying to get me drunk. I'm not sure why, I think we're both aware at this point us having sex is what we both want. I slather some of the cheese onto a piece of fresh baguette and lay back, balancing the glass on my chest as I sigh, completely and utterly content.

I turn my head to the side to awkwardly take a sip of my champagne without getting up, and my hand pauses on the way to my mouth as I see the artwork on my wall has changed.

I smile, warmth filling my chest at the sight of Edward's Degas sketch that I admired so much now hanging where a painting of a floral bouquet had been just this morning.

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"And so ever since that day, whenever it was one of our birthdays, my father would have the fire extinguisher out just in case M dropped the cake." Edward is laughing joyfully, regaling me with tales of his childhood and what it was like to live with newly found siblings. I envy him and these stories, never having an accomplice in any family mayhem growing up. "My mother never did get over the loss of those curtains." He shakes his head and pours the last bit of champagne into his glass, knocking it back in one gulp and settling back onto the couch where we've ended up after dinner thoroughly lazy from another fantastic meal.

"I find it hard to believe that M was the one that caused all the trouble." I smile, pinching him in the leg that's currently under my own as his hand caresses my calf on the outside of my sundress.

"I didn't get into trouble until much later on."

"Oh? And when would that have been?"

"My first heist." My ears prick to attention at this. "I was twenty." He stares at me, buzzed from champagne, a crooked smile on his face.

"Are you going to keep it a secret, or are you going to fill me in?"

"I've never told anyone."

"Sounds intriguing."

He hums. "I suppose." He continues rubbing my leg, making lazy circles. "I wasn't always into art theft." I widen my eyes, waiting for him to continue. "I had a penchant for jewels."

"Ah, the gem guessing game at the gallery," I say, remembering our slow dance around the borrowed jewels during Leah's show and his subsequent speculation of what I prefer.

"I was at some fundraiser with my grandparents, tuxedos and gowns, that sort of thing. I'd been reading a lot of novels in my off time from studying, crime books, heists, and the number one thing all of these fictional characters had going for them was unequivocal charisma."

"Let me guess, you were fantastically charismatic, even at twenty."

"Like a motherfucker." He smirks. "Don't forget spectacularly handsome."

"How could I assume otherwise?" I roll my eyes at him and he laughs before continuing his story.

"So I'm at this event, and there's this old adversary of my grandmother's there, a woman that treated my grandmother poorly, snubbing her for not coming from 'old money', the only acceptable kind. Anyway, she's there, being completely ignored by her husband, and she's got this necklace on you could see from across the room. So me, being the gallant, handsome devil I am, asked her to dance."

"And of course, you know how to waltz or whatever it is the bluebloods do at these things."

He gives me a look like I should know better. "Of course. So there I am, turning her around the dance floor much of the night, complimenting her and laying it on thick. She's eating it up. I act startled and tell her that her necklace looks like it's slipping, so I quickly move my hands to her neck and fumble with the clasp I'd studied earlier in the evening by standing behind her before making my move and loosen it so that it comes off in my hands.

"I make a big show of turning her around to re-fasten it, only… I don't. I leave it loose but still attached. You know those clasps that snap down one end over the other?" I nod, and he continues. "So I just left it with the safety latch barely hooked. Her hair covered it, so when she walked away, no one was the wiser.

"Towards the end of the evening, I see she's fumbling with her stole while her husband is chatting up the coat check girl, so I rush to help her. I slip the mink on her shoulders, unclasp the necklace, make a point of securing the stole closed in front of her and placing a very non-gentlemanly kiss on her cheek, all the while I've let the necklace fall down the inside of her fur and into my palm, where I quickly placed it in my pocket."

"Holy shit. And you didn't get caught?"

"No, I didn't get caught."

"Did you feel bad about it?"

"Not particularly, I loved my grandmother dearly, and this woman was so cruel to her at gatherings even though they shared the same social circle. Besides, she had more wealth than anyone could dream of."

"What did you do with the necklace? Do you still have it?"

"It became the MJ schoolroom in the Cape Town Village Home for Boys." He smiles a faraway smile, a happy memory perhaps playing in his head.

This admission of philanthropy, obviously a direct result of the affection he has for his brothers makes Edward even more attractive to me than he's been, if that's conceivable. I scoot closer, his hand moving up slightly to cup my knee that's lying across his lap. I'm feeling wickedly affectionate, the dry humping on the boat, the luxurious bath, and the champagne all adding to the spell I'm falling under. "Tell me another one."

His eyes drop to my mouth, where I'm slowly licking my lips thinking about how turned on I am. He shifts under me, his hand now travelling up my thigh. "Does it excite you, Bella? What I am?"

"It shouldn't," I say, my hand moving to the back of his neck. I stroke the skin there, tangling my fingers in the short hair at the nape. "But it does. The mystery that surrounded you when I first met you, the game of trying to figure it out, the danger that surrounds you still." I kiss his mouth lightly, my tongue barely peeking out to touch his lips. "Tell me more."

He kisses me back, just as teasingly. "The Modigliani," he says against my lips. "Taken from the home of a prominent political figure in Sicily."

"Mmm, how?" I ask, nuzzling his scratchy cheek with my nose as I breathe him in.

"He was busy thoroughly sticking it to his mistress as we climbed onto the balcony of his villa and made our way to his office, where it was hidden behind a fake panel. J cut the alarm, and we left out the front door."

"As simple as that?" I whisper against him.

His mouth slides to my ear. "You must know, Bella. Simple is always the best way. Do you want to hear another?"

I shake my head. "No."

"What do you want then?"

I straddle his lap and he slouches a bit so his head is leaning back on the cushions, both hands now up and under my sundress, scratching the skin of my thighs lightly. I lean in close to his ear, biting the skin underneath his earlobe before running my tongue over his stubbled jaw and moving back to his ear. "I want to ride you in your dungeon." My hand moves down the front of his body, sliding between us and settling on the thick outline of his already stiffening cock. I squeeze and his hand shoots out to hold onto my wrist.

"Is that so?"

"Um-hmm." My hand gives another squeeze and I lick his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "I've never had an older man before," I tease.

"Then I suggest you get moving, little girl." He quickly stands me upright as he rises, spinning me and slapping my ass, causing me to jump and walk into the house towards the stairwell that leads downstairs. I brush my fingers against the stone walls as I descend, swaying my hips with each step.

As soon as I've reached the bottom, he propels me towards the wall so the front of me is pressed against the rock, trapping my arms and placing his mouth on my shoulder, biting and sucking the skin roughly. He boxes me in, my cheek lying on the cool surface, and grinds his cock into my backside as a loud moan of pleasure escapes me.

"Maybe I'll fuck you right here." He punctuates his words with a grab to my breast, pinching the nipple before rolling it between his fingers through the fabric of my dress. I move my hips in a teasing manner, before breaking from his grasp and turning to face him quickly, my back against the stone.

"I'd rather you fucked me in front of your Vermeer."

One eyebrow lifts and he smiles. "Kinky."

"Chance of a lifetime," I answer throatily, the thought really, really turning me on.

"Fucking me? The chance of a lifetime? How complimentary of you." He smirks before grabbing my waist and pulling me towards the wine cellar door where he swiftly opens it and leads me to the secret room. He punches in the code and pushes me lightly across the threshold where the dim lights begin to brighten.

"Strip."

I turn back to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms and bare feet crossed casually, but his piercing scrutiny suggests otherwise. I turn my chin up at his demand. "I don't take orders well," I tease, knowing with him, I do.

"If you want to take my cock, you will." He lifts one hand and strokes his jaw before nodding towards my dress. "Strip, Ms. Swan. Now."

I think I just came.

Reaching up to my neck, I pull the tie of the halter-style neckline and loosen the bow slowly, making sure his eyes are following every move. Once the ties are undone, I hold the dress to my chest coyly with one arm and smile sweetly at him.

"No, you don't take orders well at all, do you?" He shakes his head. "All of it."

I let the top fall, holding the dress in one hand as I shimmy it over my hips and step out of it, leaving me in just my panties. I drape the discarded garment over the leather chair behind me and then pull the satin of my underwear down slowly, moving my hips and legs to maneuver the fabric off where they reach my feet, and I leave them where they fall on the carpet.

Placing my hands on my hips, I jut my chin out towards him. "So now what do you plan to do with me, Mr. Cullen?"

He starts walking towards me, unbuttoning first his right cuff then his left slowly. "You, Isabella, are as beautiful as anything hanging on these walls. Maybe even more so. I'd love to admire you all night, just like this, but I seem to remember something about you wanting to take a ride?" He finishes his sentence just as he comes within inches of me. "I suggest you take my clothes off now, if that's what you want."

I have never had someone want to dominate me, and I can't deny it's something I think I could get used to. I like playful Edward, but this one is extraordinarily sexy. His confident demeanor, his power, coupled with the danger he exudes within the four walls of this forbidden room is enough to make me comply like an eager puppy. My hands reach for his shirt buttons, and I undo them one at a time, trying not to show how willing I am.

I reach the bottom and pull the shirttails from his pants, moving around to release the back while pushing my breasts against his now exposed body. His eyes don't leave my face as I lean in and kiss his hard chest, my lips closed but lingering, as I look up at him, seduction in my eyes. My hands reach for the button on his pants where they swiftly unclasp, and I pull the zipper down as well. The cotton falls and I look down to see his erection poking prominently at the front of his low-slung, tight black boxer briefs. He looks like a fucking underwear model, and I yearn to tell him how beautiful he is, but choose to keep that to myself for now. His ego would most likely explode with any further acknowledgement. Arrogant bastard.

My fingers play over the tattoos that line his abdominal muscles, and I rethink every joke I had at his expense today about him being old. I've never had someone so fit and outright sexy under my touch. I let my fingers lightly slide under the elastic of the waistband, moving them back and forth teasingly as they skim across the tip of his erection. His hands move to my shoulders, pushing my hair back and kneading the skin once it's uncovered. His thumbs brush against my neck as his hands slide higher, weaving themselves into the hair at the back of my neck, which lulls me into an erotic haze. I lower his boxers some more, allowing the tip of his cock to be visible.

I run my palm over his partially exposed erection, my fingers circling the stiff tip. Edward looks down at my hand and moans, his grip tightening on my neck. "Fuck."

The quickly depleting hold he has over his own control, brought on by my touch, makes it easy to push him towards the leather chair behind him where he promptly drops. His boxers are still at half-mast, holding his cock against his body in a tight grip. I step closer, my legs straight on either side of his knees, and put both my hands on the short arms of the chair while I bend at the waist, my mouth moving towards his.

His lips part slightly at the expectation of my kiss but instead of placing mine on his, my tongue peeks out instead and trails over his top lip sensually, causing him to gasp sharply. I nip his bottom lip with my teeth, happy with how I've turned the tables, making him _my_ bitch now. I lower myself even more and trail my tongue down his chest, following the vines in a lazy pattern as his hips move involuntarily, trying to get my mouth to move faster. Eventually, the tattoos lead to where the head of his cock sits, and I waste no time in licking him, my tongue dipping into the salty slit.

I hear him inhale through his nose as my tongue moves around the head, licking every part that's exposed. Reaching to release the rest of him, my hand firmly grasps his sizeable girth before I completely envelop his cock with one long suck of my mouth.

"Jesus, fuck!" Edward's hips thrust towards me, his hand immediately moving to my hair where he wraps it in his fist. I look up at him from my position in his lap, and his eyes are wild, his breathing short and panting. "Baby, you have a fucking hot mouth." His hand increases its grip in my hair, and when I moan like a whore at the pleasurable ache on my scalp, I hear him chuckle, and he pushes on my head.

I take all of him in, my mouth sliding up and down the velvet shaft, my tongue riding the stiff ridges while I let my teeth gently scrape against him. His hand squeezes my hair, pulling even more and I moan around him again, my mouth full of Edward, hot and hard.

Suddenly, he pulls my head back and stands in a flash before me. "You wanted to get fucked in front of my Vermeer?"

I barely nod before he spins me and puts both of my hands on the back of the other chair directly in front of the painting. I hear him moving behind me as he lowers his boxers, and I feel the heaviness of his erection now free and pressed against my ass. "Ms. Swan, I wonder. Are you this hot for it when not surrounded by stolen art?" He teases me, sliding his cock between my thighs as one hand lightly touches my entrance from behind, causing my hands to grip the leather tightly while I inhale sharply. "I think your wet pussy cements the fact that you rather like the depravity of what I do in my spare time." He slides himself lower to rub against my opening.

"I'd like it a lot better if you actually got to the fucking… oh!" I lose my words when I feel him enter me fully, my wetness allowing him easy passage. He grunts behind me, his hips coming to a stop when he's firmly seated in me to the hilt. I curse as he fills me, spreading me wide as he stays there, not moving.

"Look at the painting, Isabella. Look at what a fucking two hundred million dollar stolen painting looks like while you have a cock deep inside you." His words force my muscles to clench around him, making him grunt. "I bet we're the only people to ever have fucked in front of it before."

"Fuck, Edward, you really know what to say to a girl," I whimper, shutting my eyes at the wave of sensation coursing through me at the headiness of everything I'm surrounded by. Not to mention filled by.

He slides out of me, his hands gripping my waist before slowly easing his way back in. It is delicious torture, his leaving and returning, hitting me deeply inside while I rock back against him. His fingers move to my clit and begin to rub, the dual sensation of him fucking me with his cock and his hand causing the familiar beginning tremors to tighten my stomach. I don't want to come yet, this is too good, so I try to move his hand, but he won't have it.

"I told you I was going to show you what an un-high school-aged man could do to you. You think that means one orgasm? Silly girl." He continues to stroke and pump until I'm crying out, looking at the Vermeer as my moans fill the room. I don't think I've ever come so hard or so fast.

"Outstanding," I mutter, already spent.

"Why thank you." Edward's hand moves from my sensitive pussy where a second later I hear him groan so I look back to see his fingers sliding out of his mouth, wet and thoroughly sucked. He grins devilishly down at me as he continues to move inside me.

I smirk. "I meant the painting."

As soon as I say it, he stills behind me. Uh oh. "Perhaps you'd like to see it from a different angle then." He pulls me up and slides out of me, the loss of him from my body instantly missed. Turning me in his arms, I'm surprised when his hands come up on either side of my face, and he kisses me gently. My hands start to caress his back lovingly, enjoying the softer side of Edward as much as the demanding one. He kisses me once, twice, before pulling back and staring into my eyes.

"Get on the fucking floor. Let's see if the Vermeer is just as outstanding while on your back."

My knees practically buckle at his words, making the descent to the floor that much easier. In a heartbeat he's on me, spreading my legs apart with his knees as he plunges back into my aching pussy, which spasms with aftershocks at his return.

He pumps into me smoothly but forcefully, pulling back and turning his hips as he moves in to put pressure against my clit. He sets a maddening, torturously slow pace, his body impressive in its control of his every movement. The technique is outstanding, pulling out and then thrusting, keeping time with the pulsing going on inside me from my second impending orgasm. "What do you think, Bella? Just as good upside down?" he grunts, looking down at me.

"Mmmm, yes. Just as good, so good," I huff, my body moving against the carpet at the pushing of his body against mine. My legs tighten around him as I feel my body about to give, and he keeps a steady rhythm even while I come around him again, moaning and saying his name.

"That's it, Bella, who's fucking you?" Push. Grunt. Push.

"Edward," I relent, not able to fight him.

"Who's going to give you more?" Twist. Plunge. Twist.

I hum in anticipation and dread, not sure my body can take more. "Edward," I answer anyway, knowing it's futile. He's out to prove a point.

His pace increases and he grabs my wrist, putting it over my head where instinctively my other hand joins in, held tightly in his grasp as he pounds into me, his rhythm beginning to falter. "And who is the most cunning, most astounding, most _exciting_ person that's ever fucked you?"

"Oh God, you, Edward. You. You fucking criminal, degenerate, crook…" I trail off, his body jerking heavily over mine as he pummels me furiously, and I come an impossible third time.

"As I've said earlier," he grumbles, the force of his body shimmying my body up the carpet where I'm sure to have rug burns on my back. "Takes one to know one, fuck, Bella, FUCK!" He slams into me four more times before settling against me, his orgasm causing his stomach muscles to convulse and ripple. His face is just as awesome to watch as his body, his jaw tense and his bottom lip firmly caught between his teeth as he rides it out.

Our panting breaths fill the room, and Edward releases my hands, quickly lowering himself over me. His hands grasp either side of my head where he lands a hot, wet, languorous kiss on my mouth. We breathe together for a minute, our lips barely touching until his eyes open, looking at mine before he chuckles.

"Now _that_, my dear Bella, was a work of art."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Teenage Angst Brigade by Jandco (available on A Different Forest)**

Five high school teens made a lewd pact without much thought of the fallout. When a new comer arrives, the group is forced to deal with the consequences of their experimentation and decisions, ultimately learning too late that even the most casual intentions can carry the heaviest weight.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I wake the next morning deliciously sore.

After violating me thoroughly in the vault, Edward proceeded to show me his impressive stamina by taking me again in his bed. The same bed I am currently stretching my limbs out on, rubbing the silky sheets with my fingers and enjoying the breeze that blows over my naked torso.

However, I am unfortunately very much _alone_ in enjoying myself.

"Apparently I'm so good he spontaneously combusted," I say out loud to the empty room and laugh at myself, shaking my head at the silliness a night of hot sex can obviously instill in me. With a content sigh, I stand and grab the shirt Edward flung across the chair in haste last night, slipping it on and walking to the balcony to see if he's swimming.

I'm not disappointed.

The waves in the pool make a slow, languid sound, rippling as his body slices through the water forcefully, his hard muscles and sleek, wet skin giving me the urge to catcall him. So I do.

With my best wolf-whistle, the one Charlie taught me to do with two fingers; I pierce the air and lean on the railing. Edward stops when he gets to the farthest edge and holds on, his hand wiping the water from his face as his head turns to seek me out. "I feel so sexually harassed," he calls, shaking his head to rid his hair of water.

"But in a good way, right?"

"Most definitely. Why don't you come down here and lose my shirt?"

"Sounds like a good idea." I open up the shirt I hadn't bothered buttoning, letting it fall to the cement. "But I think I need a nice hot shower instead." I wiggle my fingers at him as I turn; hearing him yell out in protest as I make my way to my own room to get ready for whatever the day will bring me.

* * *

The sun is bright and hot, the sky cloudless as Edward and I stroll down Quai Suffren, his arm slung lazily around my neck as we window shop in The Old Port.

My hands play with his fingers where they hang loosely in front of me, both of us utterly relaxed and comfortable as we continue to tease each other, easing into the banter and sarcasm that we've built our tentative friendship on. With no looming threat or doubt towards him, I can honestly say I've never felt more at ease with a man.

It's a sobering thought, one I shake off for now. I'm not leaving for a few days, so I decide to give in to Edward and all of his charm.

I allow myself to fall for him just a little more.

Settling in and ordering wine at a small café he identifies as his favorite, I have my arm draped over his on the table in front of us, my fingers idly playing with the sleeve of his linen shirt as he nuzzles my neck, leaving warm, wine-infused kisses along my skin. I catch the eye of quite a few women as they pass, looking at Edward and all his magnificence, which makes me smile, knowing that I'll be the only one sharing his bed. For now.

"All these beautiful women, Edward, staring at you," I whisper into his ear as his mouth trails farther down my collarbone. "How many of these women have you bedded here? Are these jealous women staring daggers at me past conquests?" I ask lazily, not particularly concerned by the attention he is receiving.

"Why Ms. Swan, are you jealous? If anyone should be jealous here, it's the men that can't keep their eyes off of you, wishing they were sitting in my place." His lips move to kiss mine once, before he pulls back, an amused expression on his face. "But no, I have not had any women here."

"Here in the plaza? I would hope not," I laugh.

"I wouldn't say no to you if you felt the need to attack me in public, but no, I mean, here, at all."

My eyes double in size as I stare, open-mouthed at him. "You haven't slept with one woman here in Saint-Tropez?" I ask incredulous.

"No. I haven't."

"Why the hell not?"

His laugh bursts out of him as he moves his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "I don't know if I should be happy that you expect me to be a manwhore or angry that you're not particularly possessive of me."

"Well, of course I don't want to hear about the multitude of female company you've had, but I'm truly shocked."

"I didn't say I don't enjoy the company of women, Bella. I just don't bring them to my home." I wait for the punchline, and when one doesn't come, I shake my head.

"I'm the first woman you've brought here?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it," I say, still shocked.

"You shouldn't be surprised. You of all people." He turns his body so it's directly facing mine and extends his arms straight over my shoulders. "I told you, you're the first person I can be completely myself with. How was I going to bring anyone here, knowing what lies underneath my home?"

I lick my lips, his face closing in on mine. "I suppose I should be flattered," I whisper as his eyes move to watch my mouth as it zeroes in on its target.

"Not flattered, Ms. Swan," he answers slowly.

"No?"

His lips ghost over mine, barely touching them as his hands cling to my neck, pulling me in to him tighter. "You should be honored."

Before I can cry out in protest of his arrogance, his lips land on mine and all I can think about is the taste of wine on his tongue as it takes up residence in my open mouth. I can feel him laughing through the kiss, and I push him back. "You're such a dick sometimes."

His grin is as wide as my own. "Don't use words like that unless you intend to use them in a very dirty way." His eyebrows wag, making me laugh as I swat at his chest. We're interrupted by his phone chiming in his pocket. Pulling it out and looking at the face, he curses. "Shit. I forgot I had a conference call with my foundation today." He types in a brief message and puts it away, lifting his face back up to mine. "Do you see what you do to me? You make me lose my mind." He kisses me once before pulling back completely.

"Mmm. Ditto." I watch as he pulls some bills from his wallet and leaves them on the table. I begin to rise, and I turn to look when I hear M greeting us from behind.

"M is going to continue shopping with you while I go back to the house."

"Are you sure? I can go back with you."

He smirks. "Unfortunately this is legitimate, boring business. You enjoy your shopping trip. Buy something nice for tonight." He's about to pull a card out of his wallet but with one eyebrow raise from me he wisely puts it back. "Right. No Pretty Woman moments."

"I can manage, yes." I smile as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek.

"Stay with M, he'll drive you home. And have fun." He leans in close to whisper in my ear. "I expect you to buy something sinful."

"Shucks. I was going to go for full body coverage. Arms and everything."

He laughs as he starts to step away. "If you think that would deter me from taking you five ways to Sunday again tonight, you underestimate me once more."

My mouth drops open as I see M snicker, turning away with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

I really need to teach Edward about the art of discretion. Cocky motherfucker.

* * *

I'm surprised to see M in full suit and earpiece mode, Jasper similarly dressed, as we make our way out to a black Mercedes purring on the driveway, ready to escort us to the party.

"Planning something dangerous tonight, are you?" I ask as I wait for Jasper, who's opening my door.

"You just never know." He winks.

"How long a drive is it?" I ask, climbing into the backseat before Edward, as he closes his door and M pulls away from the house.

"About an hour and fifteen. We could've cut the time a bit by taking the boat, but you look too beautiful this evening for speeding along the water." His eyes roam my silk, white Grecian style dress that I found on sale. "That reminds me." He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a long, slim case.

"Edward, what have you done?" I ask, my eyes stuck on the velvet box.

Opening the lid, I see a beautiful silver necklace, the metal swirling in a filigree pattern, and smile when I see what's inlaid between the swirls.

"Sapphires." I laugh, and then give him the side eye. "Tell me you didn't buy this for me?"

"No," he chuckles. "On loan. I would never assume you'd take such an extravagant gift. It was my mother's; I told you, you should be draped in sapphires, and these are special."

I start to move my hand towards the box to touch the beautiful gems but pull it back quickly. "You're not going to snap that lid on my hand, are you?"

"Are you obsessed with that movie?" he laughs. "No, I'm not going to do that. Here." Edward pulls the necklace from the box and motions for me to turn, where he clasps it behind my neck. I turn back around and touch it, looking down at the beautiful jewelry.

"It's really lovely."

"Almost as lovely as the person wearing it."

My eyes grow heavy with lust at the way he's looking me up and down. "Do you have a partition in this car?" I lean into him, pressing my body against his.

"No, but I wish I did," he groans when my hand slides over the front of his suit pants. "Later, Bella, I'll make it so you can't walk straight tomorrow."

My stomach flips with want at his words, his brashness causing me momentary loss of witty comebacks. "That sounds good."

The passing scenery on the way to Cannes is just as lovely as the rest of the country. I'm not sure if it's because it's exotic and new, or if it's the company I'm in. Whatever it is, I feel its effects and can't seem to get enough of touching Edward, regardless of M and J being so near. Hands caress, lips kiss, pulses quicken.

Before I say 'fuck it' and take further advantage of Edward regardless of having an audience, M turns off the road into a parking lot, leading to an art deco-style restaurant right on the water. Edward points out the famous hotel in Cannes, where all the celebrities stay, just mere yards from the party location, and I ask what it is we're attending. He just smiles in answer.

After Jasper opens the door to let us out under the awning of the restaurant, Edward's hand finds mine, and he loops my arm through his to escort me across a carpet and down a walkway that wraps around the back of the building. My heels click on the cement, and the gulf air ruffles the bottom of my filmy dress as we approach the entrance where I see white canopies strung with lights, causing them to glow with a faint red hue.

When we arrive, I pause and falter when a banner beside the doorman catches my attention.

2014 ARCA INTERDISCIPLINARY ART CRIME FUNDRAISER

_WELCOME RECEPTION_

What the ever-loving fuck? "Edward, I…"

"It's all right. I'm invited," he answers my nervousness with a casual smile while pulling me gently forward, telling the organizers that 'Anthony Masen and Bella Swan' have arrived.

"No, you don't understand. Rose's…" I'm unable to finish when Edward leans in to greet someone in French, kissing the woman's cheeks before introducing me. I shake her hand and accept the traditional welcome calmly, even though my eyes betray me as they dart around the space.

Edward prompts me to move farther into the party, grabbing two glasses of champagne as we go. "Just pretend this is not what it is," he smirks, his eyes dancing fiendishly.

I lean in and whisper in his ear harshly. "It's like returning to the scene of the crime, isn't it?" I turn my head and take a sip of liquid courage.

"I've not conducted business here," he laughs, his carefree attitude disarming, as I can feel my palms sweating just being near this organization. I feel like everyone is looking at me and knows what I've been up to. "Just relax, Bella."

"Easy for you to say. Edward, listen-"

"Can you hold that thought?" he interrupts me trying to tell him about Rose's father with a quick kiss to my forehead before I watch him make his way to the men's room. I gulp my champagne and grab another off a passing tray after I've polished off the first. I wonder if Irina or Ruel will be here. Maybe this is where art thieves go to get their kicks and live more dangerously than they already do.

As soon as Edward returns, he's inundated with people wanting to talk to him, giving me no opportunity to speak to him alone. We move from group to group, and I follow along guiltily through the mazes of white lounge furniture; all draped in pretty people as Edward expertly converses in French, Italian, and English to various guests. Anthony Masen is apparently well-liked in this circle; an avid and well-known collector.

I relax as the evening goes on, not crossing paths with any names I'm familiar with. I get caught up in the conversation, magic of the evening, and the surreal nature of it all. Me, Bella Swan, at a ritzy party in Cannes with, hands down, the best looking man in France. I'd take some pictures with my phone if I didn't think it would appear tacky. I'm secretly thrilled with the attention he pays me throughout the evening, introducing me as his friend but allowing the placement and possessiveness of his hands on my body to tell otherwise. He seems at ease with letting others assume we are together, and when I'm asked, I don't correct anyone's incorrect assumptions that I am his.

Edward excuses himself to get a cognac from the bar, kissing me once again before pulling away and leaving me leaning against a couch.

I'm nibbling on a plate of hors d'oeuvres when a man in a blue suit approaches, greeting me in French and speaking before realizing I can't continue the conversation he's started.

"I don't believe I've seen you at one of these events before," he says in English, with a hint of an Italian accent. He's an older man, mid-fifties I'd guess, with tan skin and blondish hair. There's something familiar about him, and I search my memory to see if I've had business with him at the gallery or perhaps at an estate meeting.

"This is my first time to France, actually," I answer slowly, realization cutting through my alcohol haze. I know exactly who this is.

"Are you having a good time?"

"Yes, it's a lovely country. And a wonderful party," I add, smiling brightly, hoping my upbeat demeanor doesn't appear fake.

"Such a good cause."

"Yes."

"Do you know much about our organization, Ms…?"

I hold out my hand out for him to take, which he does. "Swan. I'm somewhat familiar, yes," I reply guiltily. "Art theft."

"A very worthwhile pursuit, I can assure you."

"I plan to donate," I lie, wishing for Edward to return.

"Do you know how many priceless works of art have been stolen, never to be recovered?"

"Um, I believe I learned about some in my art history class," I answer, hoping he'll assume I'm a student and get bored with me quickly.

"Too many to count. And even with state of the art security, it still happens. Two Renoirs, of course, from The Swedish National Museum, thankfully recovered." He holds his hand over his chest and smiles. "And _Pastoral_ by Matisse, sadly, still missing, just to name a recent few." I nod in agreement, my hand making its way down my skirt to wipe the clamminess that's formed there. "And let's not forget _The Concert_, by Johannes Vermeer not too long ago, 1990. Such a tragedy."

My mind instantly pictures the painting, hanging proudly on the wall in Edward's home, which I was splayed out in front of hours ago. He holds his hand out for mine again. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your first name."

I swallow. "Bella."

The grip on my hand increases slightly and his eyes open wide. "Do you go by Isabella Swan, by any chance?"

I'm mildly taken aback, but nod. "Yes, that's my full name. And you are…?" I play dumb.

"Aro Venti. I believe you work for my daughter, what a delightful surprise." His flat tone makes me think it's not, really, but I'm distracted by the act I have to put on.

"Rose Hale is your daughter?" He confirms this with a nod of his head. "I've heard so much about you." I smile, tamping down my dislike for the man.

"Nothing good, I assume," he chuckles, looking down quickly before meeting my somewhat reluctant gaze. "Don't answer that. I'm well aware of how my daughter feels about me."

Having nothing good to add in regards to how Rose views him, I bite into a cracker and just stay silent.

"If it's worth anything, I think she's done a remarkable job with her gallery." He leans against the wall behind him, casually placing one hand in his jacket pocket. His statement falls flat, feeling insincere.

"She has. The Hale is one of the leading galleries in the Chicago area," I say proudly, wanting to make it clear how successful his daughter is, even though he should know that.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? I understand you are about to have a collection by Jean-Francois Millet shortly. That's quite an accomplishment."

"It certainly is," I nod, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"I would love to see _The Angelus_ in person, but I doubt Rose would enjoy a visit sooner than the allotted two months she normally allows me."

"I'm excited myself," I answer distractedly, thinking about the peasant farmer painting Alice was working on when I picked up the Ensor painting from the loft safe prior to my trip to Geneva.

"I can imagine." He pushes himself from the wall and looks around quickly. "Well, enjoy your evening, Ms. Swan. Please tell Rose I've sent along my love." Rose's father turns and walks away, his arm catching that of a woman much younger than him and leans in to kiss her heavily made-up face. Mommy number four, I'm assuming. Although I suppose it could be the upcoming number five.

The cracker suddenly tastes funny in my mouth, my expression turning down into one of a confused scowl. I search the room for Edward, seeing him over at the bar. Something about the conversation with Mr. Venti isn't sitting right. I play it over in my mind a few times, trying to grasp what it might be, besides just an inherent loathing in a show of loyalty to my friend and the mention of Edward's painting. I swallow some champagne and practically spit it out when it hits me.

I put my plate down and scurry to where Edward is, chatting with an older couple and sipping on his drink.

Grabbing his arm, I sidle up to him and smile brightly at the couple in front of me. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but may I have Anthony for a moment? I promise to give him back shortly. I'm just missing him terribly."

I glance up at Edward who is looking down at me, amused, before making his apologies and following me as I practically drag him from the bar and lead him to as deserted an area as I can in the crowded party. I spy Aro Venti across the way, chatting with partygoers.

"What is it, Bella? Getting spooked? Or are you really missing me?" He grins, but one look on my face turns his into one of concern. "What is it?"

"Aro Venti," I whisper, leaning up close to Edward's cheek to prevent any eavesdropping by those near by.

"Yes? Head of ARCA, I told you not to worry…" Mr. Venti's eyes meet mine and I quickly kiss Edward, trying to appear like I'm not thinking of anything but the man in front of me. Edward kisses me back willingly, his hand shifting to my back to pull me in a bit closer. "Mmm, Bella. Tell me you're getting turned on in a room full of the enemy," Edward groans, taking my mouth under his again.

"Yes," I say, always instantly distracted when Edward's mouth is on me. "No, wait Edward, you don't understand." I pull back slightly and wrap my hand around his neck, playing with the back of his hair so we look like lovers who just can't get enough of each other.

Edward catches on and dips his head to my neck, kissing me softly and speaking against my skin. "What? Spit it out."

I smile and close my eyes, so anyone watching thinks I'm utterly enraptured in Edward sucking on my neck. Through partly opened lips, I speak covertly. "Aro Venti is Rose's father."

I feel the tension against my back increase slightly, as he pulls back and looks at me, his hooded expression masking his confusion as his words come out slowly. "But her name is Hale…?"

I run my hand over the open V of his button-down shirt and kiss his chest, mumbling against him. "Yes, she hates him. Took her mother's maiden name after he left them when she was a toddler."

His hand shifts down over my hip, pulling me against him. He dips his head to kiss me, but I can see his brow is slightly furrowed. "You're telling me that Rose's dad is the head of ARCA?" I nod, and a slow laugh starts to bubble from his throat. His suddenly bright eyes dance with amusement as he looks at me. "That's hilarious! Why would she…" he doesn't finish, his laughter growing.

"She hates the son of a bitch, does it as a 'fuck you'. But that's not the issue."

He smiles his upside down smile as his hands rub up my sides, seemingly not concerned. "So what is the issue, Bella?"

"I think he's your arch nemesis." When Edward just blinks at me, I continue. "Tell me, have you ever inquired about _The Angelus_ by Millet?"

He speaks slowly. "A year ago."

I grasp his jacket in my hands tightly. "Edward, the fucking head of ARCA is the one stealing your paintings before you can."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**EARTHQUAKE!** **By Thallium81**

When a virgin is kidnapped in the jungles of Isle Esme, a daring anthropologist rushes in to the rescue. But will they be able to escape the island before falling victim to the predators, natives, and pirates? AH EdwardxBella

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I am truly sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to all of your lovely reviews for chapter 16. I was at a family wedding in North Carolina! OCD PB apologizes... I did read every single one, though! Thank you guys so much! **

* * *

Chapter 17

"_The fucking head of ARCA is the one stealing your paintings before you can."_

* * *

"What?" Edward asks, his hands gripping my sides.

"I think he's the one buying your stuff. He's the one working with Irina behind your back. He knew _The Angelus_ was coming through the gallery, and there's no way Rose tells him about gaining collections we're forging from," I say and pull Edward's head towards mine, trying to hide the stunned expression that's now on his face. I don't dare look over at Mr. Venti, so I kiss Edward passionately, my tongue touching his quickly before pulling back.

Edward's mouth slowly slides into a smile as he grabs my face with his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks while he laughs. "Well things just got more interesting, now, didn't they?"

His attitude is unexpected. "Is that what you call it? Why would he be doing this specifically to _you_?"

"Remember what I said about people always wanting what they can't have?" I nod, recalling the conversation we had in his vault. "Well, I suppose Aro Venti could still be a bit cross with me for sleeping with the woman he was pursuing, who subsequently refused him."

My eyes grow huge on my face. "You did?"

Edward looks down, a bit remorseful. "Yes. I thought it would be great fun to chase the head of ARCA's affections. He's trying to get back at me by taking the things _I_ want. I told you it was all a game."

"I don't know whether to laugh or slap you."

"I didn't mean to just blurt out past conquests like that, I apologize."

I wave him off. "Edward, I know I'm not your first, it's allowed. I meant slap you for using a woman as a game piece. Here I thought I was your first at _that_." I scoff, unable to resist the dig.

"You wound me. You know you're the first to matter." The almost loving look that's now firmly planted on Edward's beautiful face and his smile are infectious, and I can't help but inhale with a shudder at the impact of his words, leaving me with nothing to say in return.

"What else did you talk about?" He prompts.

I play over the conversation in my mind. "The organization, stolen art." My head snaps up suddenly. "Edward, he mentioned the Vermeer."

Edward looks down at me for a long moment. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I purchased it on my own. Let's just say Irina let me know she was very unhappy with me and the potential money she lost by not brokering the deal for me. I wouldn't put it past her to be holding a grudge and plotting against me with Aro, just to get back at me as well."

"Jesus. So they're working together…"

"Apparently." Edward smiles wide while I work out what he's said. "Perhaps I should keep you around, Ms. Swan." My heart skips, his words causing a strange longing to grow within me. At my silence, his eyes shift a bit and he continues with a nervous laugh. "I can always use someone else on my team. You've already proven yourself to be someone with vital information."

My perched heart falls a tiny bit. Even though I know a relationship between us is impossible, part of me wants his statement about keeping me to be magically real.

I smile faintly as he stares down at me and chastise myself internally, choosing to return to the original conversation. "So he's known all along who you really are and what you do?" I ask, playing with the buttons on the front of his shirt, idly, trying not to think about what he said and my unexpected reaction within myself.

"It would seem so, and seeing us together, well I don't think meeting you was a coincidence. And to bring up the Vermeer? He knows more than I thought."

"I'm sorry Edward; I think bringing me here with you has just painted a bigger target on your back with Aro…" I trail off, shaking my head, upset at the notion that Edward's life just got more complicated because of me.

I feel his fingers tipping my chin up to look at him. He hesitates a moment, almost like he's deciding whether or not to say what he really wants to. His eyes are nothing but clear and open as he speaks. "You listen to me, Bella. Bringing you here is one of the best decisions I've ever made. To this party _and_ to Saint-Tropez. Besides finally figuring out who's working against me, which I should point out they don't know I know, giving me the upper hand once again," Edwards fingers stroke my face as he looks at me, "having you here with me has been nothing short of... perfect."

We stare at each other, the revelry of the party behind us growing faint as the air between us charges. "_You're_ perfect, Bella," he whispers, his statement causing me to hold my breath, stunned speechless as my hands slide into his suit jacket and rest against his ribcage where I swear I can feel his heart thumping rapidly.

I stand on my toes and lean my body against him, my eyes shifting back and forth over his as I tentatively move my mouth towards him. Kissing Edward up until now has been fun and free, but this feels like more. He makes me work for it, not helping me at all by meeting me halfway, instead waiting for me to reach him. When I do, I move my mouth against his slowly, coaxing him to react.

Edward taunts me, pulling back to make me press into him further, only to then meet my lips with pulsing need, nipping at my soft flesh. "I want you," he murmurs as he pulls back, his eyes looking at the mouth he's just bruised hungrily.

"So take me."

With no thought about anyone watching, Edward turns me so I'm against the wall, and as we kiss, slides us along until we're in a vacant passageway at the back of the restaurant. The stucco is rough against my bare back as he grinds his erection into me, slowly pushing his hips into the space my legs have automatically made for him. "Jesus, Bella. The way you react to me, so fucking perfect."

He rocks into me as I pant, my fingers trying to reach the front of his pants. He pulls back abruptly and grabs my flailing hand, leading me farther away from the party to a staircase facing towards the water that looks to be connected to a dock. He walks down five steps in front of me before he turns, my head evenly matched with his as I'm two steps above. He attacks my mouth with a fervor I've never experienced before, his mouth claiming mine violently before I can even get a grasp on his shoulders to balance myself.

"Tell me now if you have a problem with me licking you in public."

"Oh God."

"I'll take that as a no." He pushes me slightly so I'm sitting on one of the metal steps, and his mouth meets mine again. The hollow, metal clanging of a buoy out on the water sounds as we kiss frantically, unhinged and desperate. His body looms over mine; causing me to move so my back is pressed to the steps behind me. The sounds from the water remind me we're outside and the slight ache from the metal against me only enhances the wickedness of what we're about to do. I look back towards the restaurant to see how far we are and moan when his hands begin to lift the hem of my dress, his fingers sliding across my legs while pushing the material up to expose me.

My hands find his hair and tangle themselves into the thickness, egging him on despite the party happening not two hundred feet from where we are. With a sharp tug, I feel the silk of my lingerie giving, a ripping sound followed closely by the grunt Edward makes as he kneels before me.

He parts my legs wide, nothing standing between me and the open air of the evening. "Goddamn, Bella. I can see how wet you are in the moonlight. I could look at you all night. Like a fine work of art."

"I'd rather you did something else," I moan, desperate for him and the way he's looking at my naked body splayed out in front of him.

I feel a finger circle my clit slowly, teasing me into rotating my hips. "Don't worry, Bella," he says as he plays me like a toy. "I'm going to suck on you until you scream for me to stop." I shudder and sigh, while he continues to tease, one finger entering me slowly. "And then when you do, I'll suck on you some more."

With a cry escaping my lips, Edward's mouth lands on its intended target, licking me completely in one long sweep of his tongue. My stomach muscles ripple with the beautiful ache of anticipation as his lips kiss me up and down around my clit until he lands on it, sucking and licking like a pro.

My body trembles, my hands hold his head between my spread legs. The music and laughter of the party reach us faintly, mixing with the long wail of a horn from a faraway boat, but all I can care about are the sounds Edward's mouth makes against me as he hums and groans while tasting me. My head falls back, and I gaze at the blinking stars.

The ones above me in the dark, inky sky, and the ones Edward blinds me with entirely.

* * *

"How much did he eat today, Otis?" I ask my father's attendant, feeling slightly guilty that I'm lounging poolside in the South of France, enjoying myself while Charlie struggles to eat a bowl of oatmeal.

"It's all good, Bella, he managed to get the whole bowl down with only a few grimaces." His hearty laughter makes me feel a bit better. Otis and I have formed a close, familiar relationship over the years, as we share the same fundamental concern, my father's welfare.

"Must've been apple cinnamon." I smile and dip my hand into the tepid water of the pool. After a few more questions that Otis patiently answers, he puts the phone to Charlie's ear and I tell my father I'll be home soon, a strange knot in my stomach as the reality sets in that I only have a few days left here. As anxious as I am to return home to see Charlie, I'm more than a bit sad over leaving Edward. Our lives are just too different though, and I don't see any way to continue this beyond this week, regardless of how wonderful the past few days have been.

I skim my hand back and forth, my fingers making ripples on the glass-like surface before rolling off my towel and plunging into the eight foot depth. I swim underwater, my legs and arms propelling me to the other side. The utter silence surrounds me as I slide my body through the clear blue. It's a welcome respite, and I shut off the always present worry that lives in me for the amount of time it takes me to reach the edge, where I pull myself up and rest my chin on my wet arms, gazing out over the rustic landscape.

I wonder what time it is, surely Edward will join me for lunch, foundation business causing him to hole up in his office for most of the morning. At that thought, my stomach growls and I swim back to where I left my towel on the patio. Wrapping it around my lower half, I catch Madeline in the kitchen as she's prepping salads and I tell her I'll take our lunch to Edward's office so he doesn't have to break from whatever it is he's doing.

Balancing the tray carefully while navigating the tiled hallway that leads to the room where Edward is, my bare feet make no sound as I near the door, which lies slightly ajar. Goosebumps cover my damp skin at the baritone of his voice as it hits my ears, and I pause to listen so that I don't interrupt at an inopportune time.

"This is really bad timing, M. Can't we put off the school for a week at least in case she wants to stay?" He stops talking to listen to whatever it is M is saying before he continues. "No, no, of course not. I can't have those kids holed up any longer than this, I get it." I hear him sigh. "I just got her though, you know? And now… I have to leave her. We'll be gone for months."

My heart thumps and I press my back to the wall, trying to not let the china on the tray rattle from my nervous hands. He's leaving for months? And by the sounds of it, regretting it?

"Okay, yes, I think she had plans to leave Sunday. Let her take the jet, we'll wait until Monday to get to Cape Town." I hear the clink of the phone as he sets it on the desk, followed by another sigh. I knock softly on the door as best I can while holding the tray. "Come in," he answers, and I push the door open.

"Bad timing?"

His smile is full when he sees it's me, which causes my heart to trip. "Never a bad time for you, Bella." He watches as I place the tray on a table off to the side of the room. "Serving me now, hmm? I could get used to that."

"Well don't. This is a one-time occurrence." I grin. "I was feeling nice."

Edward stands and wraps his arms around me, not caring the bikini top I'm wearing will soak through his white shirt. "You do feel nice." His hands slide down my back, reaching the towel and teasing the edge of it.

I let him hold me a moment longer before I pull away slightly. "I'm sorry I overheard your conversation. You're going to Cape Town?"

I feel his body slump against mine before he pulls back entirely. "Yes, it's a trip that's been in the planning stages for two years. We're building a new school, and we're finally ready to break ground." He sits at the table and I take the seat across, moving our food off the tray and in front of our places.

"A school?" I chew a piece of chicken, waiting for him to elaborate, when what I really want to ask is what he meant when he told M he'd just found who I assume is me.

"It'll be the second we've built in five years. Buildings deteriorate rapidly when there is no funding to keep them maintained. There's about fifty children stuck in a room in the hospital since their old school is uninhabitable. Part of what my foundation does is to raise that money, cut through the red tape, and build entirely new structures instead of trying to piece together the old ones, leaving them more solid and easier to maintain in the long run. We fund their longevity too; staff to ensure the building stays in working order. And we supply everything necessary to get as many children as possible able to attend and continue their schooling, whether that be transportation, school lunches, any supplies they need to take home…" he trails off.

I swallow the food in my mouth, a lump forming in my throat at the realization that Edward is so much more than just an art thief out for a fun time. "Wow."

He shrugs and takes a bite of salad. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" I stare wide-eyed at him. "It's incredible."

"You thought all I did with my money was buy fast cars and travel the world?" He smirks.

"Well, yes, mostly. Who knew Edward Cullen, self-proclaimed international playboy, was such a philanthropist?" I joke, but can't deny that I'm impressed and not altogether unhappy about finding out the good he does.

"Don't tell anyone. Wouldn't want to ruin my rep." He winks.

"Certainly not."

He takes a sip of water, his movements slightly jittery and nervous. Placing the glass back down, he moves it in a circle with his fingertips, the condensation on the side rolling down the glass and landing on the tabletop. "There's only one person I care about what they think of me, Bella." I blink, my heart beating rapidly as I anticipate he's about to say…

"You," he confirms. "I care about _you_." His voice drops an octave, almost shy in its unfamiliar vulnerability. "All the adventure and money in the world means nothing if you don't have someone you care about."

I smile weakly, the food tasting like ash in my mouth as his words lay heavy across the open table.

Edward Cullen cares about me. He's shown me his true self and asked for nothing in return, while I hide and make excuses to not let him in, to not let myself feel.

I continue eating, remaining quiet at his admission while the guilt over how much he's exposed himself to me when I've given him nothing courses through my veins like poison.

* * *

The lights of the city below us glow while soft music plays over the speakers and a warm breeze cascades across the pool, making the candles that float gently on the water move back and forth in a lazy pattern. I'm preoccupied with my thoughts from earlier as we eat dinner on the terrace once again. Edward notices but doesn't press when he has to pull me from my thoughts more than once.

I stayed in my room most of the afternoon, trying to read, while he let me have my solitude. I couldn't concentrate on one word in front of me as I questioned myself thoroughly.

Would it be so terrible to let someone in? To tell him about Charlie, my life, everything I've kept wrapped solitarily in my heart for me alone? I strike the thought down immediately, not wanting him to think I'm asking for help or a handout. Telling him exactly why I do what I do would surely cause him to want to give me monetary compensation. He knows I'd refuse, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to help himself from extending an offer which would make this whole thing feel… dirty.

I shake my head and come back to this moment with Edward, trying to allow myself to feel good. It's a feeling too fleeting in my life so I decide to not let anything tarnish my diminishing time here, this brief escape from my every day.

Later, I let Edward take me to his bed, where I use his body to make mine feel like it's not containing a hole I hadn't noticed forming until now.

* * *

I'm roused from sleep by a far off boat in the harbor, signaling entry into the port. I move my body back instinctively to find Edward's, only it's not there. Sitting up, I look towards the bathroom, expecting to see the light under the door, but the door is wide open, showing the dark confines within. I slide out of the sheets and wrap the top one around my body as I walk towards the veranda to see if he can't sleep. It's also empty of Edward, but looking over the side I see the kitchen light glowing below me against the cement of the patio.

Knowing Madeline isn't a live-in maid, I make my way down the dark, silent hallway still wrapped in the sheet to the steps that lead downstairs, pausing mid-way when I hear muffled voices. Descending further, I stop at the bottom and stare open-mouthed at the sight before me.

Edward, M, and J, standing in the kitchen. Dressed entirely in black.

"Edward, what…" I interrupt, not caring that I'm wrapped in linens. All three heads snap to me and Edward's face darkens.

"Bella, go back to bed, sweetheart."

"What are you doing?"

I see M shuffling something large against the floor as he and J make their way out the back doors and into the night as Edward walks to me. "Nothing, really. Nothing for you to worry about."

"You mean nothing I should know."

"Just a little recon. I'll be back in two or three hours."

"Recon? A theft?" I question, my stomach flipping with nerves.

"Not yet," he smirks. "Just going to see what we're dealing with when it comes to the Venti estate."

"But he lives in Italy."

"Yes, Savona, but he's still here in France tonight, so it's perfect timing."

I look him up and down, slightly agitated. "Why all the black then if it's not a job?"

"Better safe than sorry, right? Besides, I look good like this." He turns me by the shoulders and guides me towards the staircase. "As soon as I get back, I want to find you sleeping peacefully in my bed…" He places a kiss to my bare shoulder and tugs on my hair a bit, "so I can have the pleasure of waking you up."

I walk up two steps but suddenly turn, throwing myself at him as he catches me. My arms fly around his neck, the only thing holding the sheet to me is his arms around my back. No words are adequate; I can't formulate what I really want to say, so I hold him as tightly as I can. "Be careful."

"Always." He strokes my hair and places a kiss on the side of my face. "I have you to look forward to when I return."

He lets me go and makes me walk upstairs where I pause, until I hear the doors in the kitchen close with a gentle click.

I pace the floor in his room, back and forth, wearing a hole in the area rug. It was one thing to see him in my bedroom at Irina's when I caught him red-handed, the night I found out who he is and what he does, but now… now I _know_ he's out there doing something dangerous. I'm nervous, worried, my hands fiddling with the end of the sheet still wrapped around me. He's not that arrogant asshole I knew anymore; he's been elevated to someone I…

I stop in my tracks at the word that just passed through me. _Love_.

I break out in a cold sweat and shake my head, trying to rid myself of the insane thought. Love. I can't love Edward. People don't fall that quickly, especially with someone that lives a vastly different sort of life. Moving out to the balcony, I let the cool night air calm my overheated face, wiping my hair back from where it's suddenly sticking to my neck.

I'm starting to ease the rapid beat of my heart when a low hum begins churning the quiet of the neighborhood. I look towards M's and J's houses where the sound is generating, increasing its volume until suddenly, over the tops of the trees to the left of Edward's house, I see lights rising into the sky. The hum deepens as it moves towards me, and I watch the lights approach, turning from dots in the sky into the very distinct shape of a helicopter.

The black machine flies closer, void of any markings or signs; a shadow cutting through the dark that you might not notice against the night sky unless it was directly overhead. My hair whips up around me, and I hold the sheet tighter as the helicopter dips a bit, angling my way. My jaw drops as I see Edward in the passenger seat, smiling down at me. Even from my distance below, I can see he's smirking, and he gives my stupefied gaze a salute before he whisks away into the night.

I stand there for endless moments, staring in the direction he just left, my mouth open and soundless. The ringing of my phone from Edward's nightstand jars me into moving, and tripping over the sheet, I clamor to reach the phone before it stops, thinking it to be Edward.

"Hello?" I ask, breathlessly.

"Bella, did I wake you?" Rose asks, and I'm suddenly on alert. It's seven o'clock at night in Chicago right now, two a.m. here.

"No, I…" Was what, watching Edward fly above me? "No."

"Bella, it's Charlie."

The blood drains from my body. "Oh God, oh no."

"No, Bella," Rose pauses. "He _spoke_."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**A Rough Start** **by ItzMegan73**

Overnight irresponsible Edward goes from bachelor to father of a 5 yr old. Meanwhile responsible, prepared Bella begins her first job as Kindergarten teacher at Forks Elementary. When irresponsible meets the epitome of responsible, sparks will fly!

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

After hanging up with Rose, I run back to my room, frantically throwing my clothes into my suitcase and gathering my toiletries from the bathroom. Rose talked me out of leaving for the airport immediately, reminding me I wouldn't be able to see my dad until tomorrow by the time I land anyway, but I can't just sit here doing nothing knowing that my father spoke.

Besides, I wouldn't leave without talking to Edward and I know I can't call him, but I need to be ready as soon as he gets back so I can ask him if I can use his jet. I don't know where it is or how long it will take to get to an airport near here. Maybe I can take the helicopter to Geneva if that's where it has stayed since we've arrived in Europe.

After eight long years, my dad said my name. I need to hear it for myself as soon as possible. So even if I have to wait until morning, at least I'll be ready to go.

I lie in my bed amongst the mess I've created in my haste and flurry, waiting for Edward to return. My exhilaration at the news of Charlie begins to diminish as I really start thinking about where Edward is. A hundred different scenarios run amok, from Aro Venti discovering them, the police showing up after an alarm sounds, huge guard dogs biting his leg off, security pulling out weapons...

I swallow; knowing that thinking of worse case scenarios will get me nowhere and focus on the facts. He's done this kind of thing hundreds of times, I'm sure. He's a pro. Helicopters, secret panels, even secret rooms are nothing to him. It's just another working day. But having the knowledge that it's happening _right now_ is an entirely different sort of thing.

A new kind of uneasiness grows within me as I think about Charlie and where I should be. But here I am, waiting for someone to come home via goddamned helicopter from a reconnaissance mission that will eventually involve an art heist.

I gaze out over the town as I sit on the edge of my bed, thinking of all the ways Edward's and my lives are completely incompatible.

Regardless of the fact that we have one gigantic thing in common, the differences are too big, too imposing. I don't live like him, jetting off wherever and whenever I want. I don't have multiple homes or cars. I certainly don't have the luxury of an endless bank account. I kick the suitcase at my feet. I'm just a girl from Illinois with a sick father and knock off luggage.

I laugh a strange, hollow sound at all the ways Edward and I could never work. We're living in two different worlds, two different universes. I place my head in my hands, rubbing my temples and lie back. Perhaps this is perfect timing, me leaving now.

Before it becomes too damn hard to do just that.

Eventually I fall asleep, waking when I feel my bed dip and Edward's familiar whisper in my ear.

"What are you doing in here, love?"

There are no words when I flip over, seeing Edward gazing down at me still dressed in his black uniform. He's not even bothered to change before coming to me, a hastiness that doesn't go unnoticed.

"Edward," I say, as I move my body against his, entirely relieved to see him unharmed and in my bed.

He finds my mouth in the dark and kisses me, the excitement from his evening evident in his movements. I have no doubt that what he's been up to tonight excites him, makes him alive, and it's one more reminder that his life does not match my own. I press my body to his; willingly giving him the greeting he's seeking in the dim light that shrouds my room. My arms cling to his neck, my legs tangle with his, the urgency of him returning safe and my impending departure create a tornado of emotion, a storm of want.

He strips quickly, deftly maneuvering his body to shed his clothes without being far from my embrace, and begins to show me how much he's missed me during his brief but perilous time away from my side.

He rolls over me, his hands pulling the sheet I'm still wrapped in from between us. He's looming over me, his naked body sliding across mine while his tricky eyes look at me with nothing short of pure adoration in the moonlight which ghosts over us. My breath catches in my throat as he stares at me, telling me so much without breathing a word. His gaze conveys the same word that snuck up on me earlier, throwing me into a tailspin.

Love. There's love here.

And I've been so selfish.

I push his body off and he acquiesces quickly, though I can feel his confusion, and lies next to me. I immediately straddle him, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around his neck, pushing my head into the crook under his chin. His hands settle on my naked back, rubbing and soothing as I tremble in his arms.

"Bella, what is it?" he asks softly, gently, with no hint of anything but concern for me.

"I've been worrying since you left." It's a statement that will mean two different things to each of us, and I don't elaborate that what I was fretting over was the distinct disadvantage this relationship has had from the start and that I'm reluctant to leave but it's for the best since our time is up. I'm not surprised when he assumes I meant his evening.

"I'm fine, nothing happened," he shushes me.

We lay there in silence for a minute, his hands rubbing circles as I continue to cling to him. Before I leave him, he deserves to get everything he's given me in return.

I raise my head to look at him, never so sure about revealing myself to anyone as I am right now. "My father, Charlie. He's the reason I do this. He's the reason for everything." His hands continue to make circles on my back, and I take in a large breath, letting it out slowly. "But I suppose you knew that."

He sighs. "I knew you had a father, yes. But that was the extent of my digging. I promise. I stopped, it felt wrong." His eyes show remorse, and I touch his lips with my thumb, letting him know I believe him, before tucking my head back under his chin.

"My Mom, her name was Renee. She was driving our old station wagon because my dad had a few beers at dinner, and she was never much of a drinker, so she didn't mind. They were approaching the main intersection in town when a truck blew through the red light, hitting the driver's side." The image of the mangled car resurfaces in my mind like it does every so often, and this time I don't push it away.

"The car flew about twenty yards and flipped over twice before landing on the roof." I swallow, and Edward's touch on me gets firmer. "They were coming home from dinner, celebrating my high school graduation. I wasn't with them because I went out with my friends to a party." The guilt that always lingers rises fresh. The thought that if I'd left with them, we wouldn't have spent those two minutes saying goodbye. They wouldn't have had to give me the lecture they always did when I went out about being safe, calling if I was going to be late, all that parental stuff.

They'd have been past that intersection by the time that truck plowed through.

"My mother died instantly, but my father was in a coma for three weeks and four days. He was left with nerve and brain damage, causing him immobility in his right side and the inability to speak." To his credit, Edward doesn't do what most do when they hear my woeful tale, patting me on the back to say 'you poor baby'. He encourages me to continue by scratching his nails lightly through my hair with one hand, while his other finds mine on his chest and links our fingers. I move my head to look up at his face, and Edward's eyes don't show pity, just a sincere sympathy.

My fingertips make patterns on his chest as I lay my head back down to continue the explanation long overdue. "I know you've wondered the exact whys of how I came to be involved with Rose." I feel him nod against the top of my head. "My father was in construction, my mom ran a dentist's office. Very low middle class, but we had everything we needed." I take a breath, letting his fingers on my scalp soothe me. "I had been accepted to Northwestern. My parents had worked very hard to get me as much financial aid as possible. They were so proud of me. The first Swan to go to college." I smile, remembering the day the acceptance letter came. My mother and father beamed at me with such pride, and Charlie ran outside to tell the neighbors.

"But after the accident, there was no way I could even think about going. I buried my mother, sold our home which still held a sizable mortgage, moved Charlie into a state run facility that was just awful, and tried to keep my head above water. After a month, it was evident Charlie was not going to improve at all where he was, and I found the best facility for him, where they'd work to enable him to regain some of his motor skills. Needless to say, it wasn't cheap, so I went to work. When all my friends were excited and leaving to start their freshman year, I was waitressing at a diner and working the cash register at the all night gas station.

"When my old high school guidance counselor heard I'd had to give up my placement that fall, the school staff got together to help me find a few small scholarships to supplement the student loans I already had in place. So many people encouraged me to go, reminding me that that's what my folks would want. But there were no savings to fall back on, and very little insurance to help pay for Charlie. But I knew they were right. I knew I had to try, for them."

"You have no other family?" he asks softly, his thumb rubbing my knuckles.

I shake my head against him and swallow. "No. Just me. I started a semester late, in January, working my butt off to keep ahead. I kept my night job at the gas station but gave up the waitressing job. I replaced that job with working in the cafeteria on campus so I'd be closer to the library. It was difficult, but I had to keep my grades up to keep my scholarships." Edward just hums when I pause. "My art theory professor suggested I earn some extra credit by interning at a local gallery."

"The Hale?" he asks softly.

It's been so long since I've had to talk to anyone about this, about how much I owe Rose for my life, I can't stop the emotions from coming. I feel the first tear I've shed for myself in a long time trail down my cheek to land on his chest. "I was really struggling with money, sleeping on a friend's couch. Even with help from the scholarships and Medicaid, it soon became obvious I'd only be able to maintain the finances for under a year. My two jobs barely kept me fed; every cent I made went to Charlie.

"I finally broke down one night in the gallery, telling Rose everything I'd been going through. Rose hired me as her gallery assistant, completely overpaying me." The memory makes me smile. "I was able to quit the cafeteria job, rework my schedule to fit her hours, and the money helped get me into a studio apartment. It was easier, but it was still a struggle. Rose and I had grown close, even with the ten-year age difference, and when I eventually got evicted junior year, it was Rose I turned to. She put me up in her guest room, helped me complete my degree through evening and online courses. She promoted me to gallery manager once I graduated, and then… she offered me the chance to make enough money to keep Charlie well cared for, for the rest of his life. So I took it." I shrug, and reach our still enclosed hands to wipe my face with my fingers quickly.

"And your dad? Is he still…?"

"He still can't use the right side of his body, at all, and he's been unable to speak all this time." I raise my head. "Until tonight." The smile on my face feels ready to split my cheeks. "Edward, he said my name tonight. Rose called to tell me."

Edward pulls me to him as he laughs, caught up in my joy over the news. He squeezes me hard, and I press my face to his chest, enjoying the moment of happiness we're sharing. "Bella, that's fantastic." I nod, and he kisses the top of my head. "Thank you, Bella, for telling me."

I swallow, regretting the next words that I have to speak. "Edward…"

"I know, you have to go."

I nod. "Yes. I hate to ask…"

"The jet is here, in France. I'll have it ready for you by morning."

I close my eyes tight, suddenly choked up. An overwhelming bombardment of emotions fight within me; the surprising relief of finally sharing myself with him, and the crushing gratitude for his generosity, which unfortunately brings with it the very heavy melancholy in my heart at the thought of leaving him.

I push it away, choosing to ignore it until the sun rises over Saint-Tropez. I move above him, my hands pushing against his chest as I let my hips fall into place on top of his. We don't say anything as we look at each other, his hands falling to my thighs that splay over each side of him, holding him to the bed.

His touch is gentle and soothing, unhurried as fingers trail softly over every inch he can reach while I rock gently against him. It's hypnotic and rhythmic, soulful and expressive, eventually giving way to the seamless next step. He lifts me slightly to enter me, and we move again, my body showing him what I can never voice out loud.

My lips brush his as I slide against his warmth, my hair falling over us and getting tangled in his hands as he moves the strands back to kiss me deeper. One hand remains holding my face and stroking lightly, while the other moves to ride the languid roll of my hips as I take him in completely.

I pull back, letting my fingers brush over his jaw, his chin, fluttering up to his eyes to touch the soft lids that cover their unique beauty. He lets me touch him slowly, taking my time, my fingertips trying to memorize every bit of him while my body enjoys all he gives.

We're silent as we come together, hooded eyes watching and aware of the feelings that wash over us. The night crickets chirp while the curtains flap softly against the open doors while we stay locked together, perfect.

* * *

The tarmac is steamy, the black asphalt springy and soft under the heat of the jet engines. M and J have driven us to the local airport, and I've said my goodbyes to them, both mirroring the somewhat blue mood that's settled over Edward and me as they walk away, allowing us a moment of privacy.

We stand close together, looking at the stairs that will take me up into his plane and away from France, away from this brief escape, away from him.

His hands circle my waist as I lean my head against him, both of us silent as no words are adequate to cover the heaviness that's fallen over us at these final moments together.

Edward clears his throat eventually and speaks first. "This is a good thing, Bella. Your father, making progress. You'll get to hear him in just a few hours."

"I know," I sniffle, happy and sad all at once. "Edward… I…"

_I think I'm in love with you. _As stupid as that sounds in such a short time_, _it doesn't make it any less true.I choke slightly as the words try to escape my throat. "I'm sorry to cut our time short," I say instead.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you to the Louvre," he chuckles, his chest vibrating under my ear.

"I'll go one day," I promise emptily, the thought of going alone not as appealing now that I won't have him as my guide if I ever return. "Thank you, Edward." I look up to his face, his mismatched eyes gazing down at me. It's impossible, but he looks as sad as I feel. "Thank you for everything."

His thumbs come up to wipe the wetness from my cheeks I had hoped not to spill. "Thank _you_, Bella. For finally letting me in." His smile turns down at the corners, one more upside down smile for me. "You were worth the wait."

The double meaning I read into his words trip my heart, but we stare silently at each other, neither of us saying what I know we're both thinking, that this is it. He'll be gone to Cape Town for who knows how long while I'll go back to Chicago, back to a life without him. Words of false promises seem weak and unnecessary, so we don't say them.

"Let me know when you land, all right?" He pulls my forehead to his lips and kisses me gently, his mouth pressing warmly against my skin. His chest shudders a bit, matching the hitch in mine.

"I'll see you around sometime. Maybe we'll cross paths in the Louvre one day. You'll be casing the joint as I gaze at the _Mona Lisa_," I joke and smile, trying to appear aloof.

He smirks. "We'll nod at each other knowingly, two thieves that pass in the night. If you're lucky, I'll give you a signal in warning so you can leave when I steal it."

"A tip of your hat?" I smile.

"A wink, perhaps."

"Sounds like a plan." With one last press of my lips to his cheek, I turn and ascend the steps that will take me to the places I belong; with Charlie, at the Hale, and back to my life.

From the window inside the cabin, I cave, crying silently as the stairs lift and the engines roar, watching Edward as he stands next to the car, M and J off in the distance.

He doesn't leave as we taxi down the runway, and I run to the windows farthest back in his plane, trying for one last glimpse of him as he remains where I left him, staring after me, hands in his pockets.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Cellar** **by iambeagle**

Boy meets Girl. Girl's friend throws up on Boy's shoes. A story about wannabe hipsters, awkward moments, and soul mates.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Tears stream down my face as I hold Charlie's hand, his grip strong and proud as he says my name, clear and sure.

"Bella."

Rose stands over me, the hand she's got on my shoulder tightening while I kneel on the floor next to Charlie's chair.

"He's said a few things now," Otis remarks, "but his favorite is that one, right there." My father's friend and aid beams a magnificent smile, as happy about these developments as I am.

"Oh, Dad. It's just so good to hear your voice." I rise and lean over him, wrapping my arms around him tight, because I feel like I could float away I'm so overjoyed. Eight long years of diminishing hope that Charlie would show any more improvement have evaporated with a few simple words. Standing fully, I feel my neck twinge, my body finally feeling its exhaustion after the adrenaline rush that started last night when I saw Edward leaving followed immediately by Rose's phone call.

Otis takes Charlie to the bathroom, so I pull out a chair, slumping down like I haven't sat in hours.

The travel is catching up to me. After a nine hour flight, I feel like I put in a full day already and it's still morning here in Chicago. I haven't bothered going home, instead I called Rose immediately because she made it clear she didn't want to miss this moment I've been dreaming of for so long, so we met at Charlie's facility.

She sits with me at the table in his room, both of us smiling wide. "It's incredible," she says, shaking her head in wonder.

"It's all been worth it Rose, everything. I can't thank you enough." I feel tears starting to well up in my eyes again, this time in utter gratitude. "If it weren't for you, I never would've been able to keep him here." Wiping my face, she leans over and grabs my other hand.

"I'm as happy about this as you are, Bella."

I nod, knowing she's speaking the truth. "I'm glad you were here when it happened, Rose. Although I'll never forgive myself that I wasn't."

"You stop that line of thinking right now. First of all, you might not have been here last night even if you were in Chicago, and if you _had_ been in the country, I wouldn't have been here either, and he'd have been alone. Just be happy one of us witnessed it." I sniffle, her words truthful but falling flat even though I know there's nothing I can do to change the circumstances.

"I had no right to be off, having a vacation. Charlie sits here, day in and day out, working hard and just trying to get through every moment in a hospital. And where am I? Gallivanting through the south of France."

Rose's hand slapping on the table between us makes me jump. "Bella Swan, how many times have we had this discussion?"

I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what Rose's opinion is before she says it. "I know. I deserve a break every now and then," I repeat her often used words.

"Yes, you do. I don't know anyone that's done what you have to make sure that their parent is well cared for while they sacrifice everything. You're one of the most selfless people I've ever met."

I frown, unwilling to feel deserving. I haven't done anything heroic but take care of a family member, something you're supposed to do. Rose sits back, a laugh in her voice. "Lord knows if our roles were reversed, I'm not so sure I _wouldn't_ be on vacation every day just to avoid having to visit my own father."

At the mention of Aro Venti, I sit up straight. "Fuck, Rose. I met him. I meant to tell you."

Her head snaps back in reflex. "What do you mean you met him? Where?"

"A party in Cannes. An ARCA event." I shake my head, remembering Edward's carefree attitude towards it.

"Edward took you to an ARCA event?" She starts laughing. "He is something else."

"That's one way to put it, but… oh Rose, we found out something you won't believe." I tell her all about how he mentioned _The Angelus_ coming to the gallery and that we believe he's been working with Irina to undermine Edward.

Rose stays silent for a moment, her eyes bugging out of her head like a cartoon. "You mean to tell me that my father, head of ARCA, is involved in the world of stolen art?"

"Yes, we're pretty sure. Edward's had a series of paintings he's been interested in suddenly become unavailable after he inquires about them to Irina."

"Yes, you had mentioned they were acquainted but at odds." Her eyebrows furrow in thought. "So Irina gets Edward's request, then what?"

"Edward seems to think she's selling to Aro at a higher price, just so he can't have what he wants. Your father and Edward have… history." I leave it there; pretty sure Rose doesn't want to know about her father's romantic life. Finishing my tale, I explain Irina's role, and how Edward cut her out of a lucrative deal without mentioning the famous painting. I could never betray him that way.

"She said she was going to deposit the money to your usual account the day after I delivered the Ensor, did she do that?" Rose nods in affirmation. "Then if she's paying you immediately, I don't know what would stop her from charging more after and pocketing the profits. She finds out what Edward wants, uses The Hale to procure it and forge, and then sells it out from under him to a higher bidder after she's paid you. Your father is that buyer. He knew about the Millet collection coming, which Edward had inquired about with Irina a year ago."

"And I never told my father about the Millet collection."

Shaking my head, I grimace. "I'm sorry you had to find out about your father this way, Rose."

"Well, I could care less that my father is dirty." She waves her hand dismissively. "But that bitch is robbing me. She's making bigger payloads off of us than she's led me to believe."

"Seems that way," I huff, equally incensed while I watch Rose as her mind works.

"They don't know we know about my father, right?"

"I don't see how. We didn't speak again at the party, and he never approached Edward. He's known all along about you, but it would be a big assumption on his part to think that Edward or I figured out his role in any of this."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "It's going to feel so good to take something away from him for once. Think Edward is still interested in the Millet?"

"I'm sure he'd be overjoyed. But you'll have to handle it."

"Oh? I thought you two got cozy over there in the French Riviera."

"We did. But it's over."

She looks at me like I've sprouted a second head. "Why?"

"It's what we agreed to. One week. Besides, he's in Cape Town for the next few months. Hardly ideal." I hate how clinical I'm making it sound, but really, I have to. "I'll give you his number, I'm sure he'd like to make arrangements with you." I change the subject quickly. "What are we going to do about Irina? I'm surprised she hasn't been told her painting was stolen."

"I'm sure she knows. She's been calling me twice a day. I'm not answering." Rose smiles.

"Oh, crap."

Rose shrugs. "What's she gonna do, hop on a plane? Call the feds? I'll avoid her until I've figured out our next course of action."

Our conversation is interrupted by Charlie and Otis returning, and Rose says her goodbyes, making sure I understand she doesn't want to see me at the gallery until the end of what was supposed to be my vacation.

I smile gratefully at my friend, all thoughts of art and theft quickly vanishing as I settle in for a whole day basking in Charlie's improvement.

* * *

In the weeks following my return from Saint-Tropez, I try to fall back into my routine of The Hale, Charlie, and not much else. I'm pleasantly surprised early on when Edward calls frequently, and we exchange some texts, mostly light in nature, but as the weeks move on and our time in France seems farther away, the texts have become less and the rare conversation has gotten increasingly shorter in length. He laments that the school is coming along slowly, hitting snags along the way that have taken up a lot of his time and energy, and it's obvious to me that he is under a great deal of stress. When we're on the phone I can hear the frustration in his voice, and it's obvious he's reading something or listening to someone else in his other ear. I try to brush it off and not take it personally, as we never said anything about maintaining a relationship past the week we spent together. Brilliant words out of my own mouth had laid down that rule, so I should be happy that he's respecting my wishes and keeping things the way they should be. Distant, friendly.

But there's no denying I'm anything but.

My midnight dreams are invaded by his delightfully unequal eyes, his skillful hands, and his quirky smile. My waking moments are taken up by ridiculous fantasies of a life carved out from impenetrable obstacles.

I've taken to frequently pulling up a picture on my phone he sent early on during his trip. He's holding a shovel with a yellow hard hat atop his head, breaking ground and smiling brightly with M and J at his side looking just as joyful. The pride in what he's doing is evident; it's a different look on his face than I've seen before. There's no devil, there's no mischief, and it can only be described as pure satisfaction. The importance of what's going on in the picture warms my heart and melts my bones.

But mostly, it reminds me of a lifestyle I've never known, and one I'd never be able to share.

* * *

The beginning of September arrives, the Chicago air showing its first hints of impending autumn. The air is a touch cooler, the leaves a bit less green. It also marks the first week that's gone by without a word from Edward. Even though they'd become infrequent, I was beginning to anticipate a quick hello in his masculine tone or a casual picture of what life is like in South Africa.

And with this absence, one I hadn't realized I'd miss so completely, brings a strange sort of gloom. I've never been the type to write a boy's name on my binder, draw hearts and flowers in the pages of a notebook, or imagine what a lover's child would look like with my features mingled with his. But when I'm not at the gallery or with Charlie, sadness creeps in as my thoughts play like a movie on an endless loop in my head of our brief affair, from the opening credits when we arrived in Saint-Tropez to the final graphic of _The End_ as we said goodbye at the steps of the plane that would take me from him.

Scrolling the internet has become a daily occurrence, looking up the art I know he owns, picturing their place on the walls in the vault. I investigate his heists, just trying to feel close to him again. Trying to hold onto a fleeting feeling I'm not sure he shares.

My thoughts imagine him dressed all in black as he made away with the Modigliani while the owner was home, his lithe body sneaking around corners and dashing out the front door. I read about the Carot landscape and how the theft has stumped Interpol for years. I even read about the heist in Boston he said he had no part of, trying to come up with some elaborate way the Vermeer came into his possession.

There's a bookmarked page on my browser I pull up often of the EMJ Foundation, wishing there were pictures of him, but of course there's not, as he chooses to stay anonymous. It doesn't stop me from perusing the website thoroughly time and time again, just to read his name and his accomplishments.

When I close my eyes, I can't help but map out his home like a blueprint imbedded forever within me. Every room he touched me in, kissed me in, every bit of wall space I found myself pressed against, the vivid images stab at my heart like an ice pick chipping away at the woman I'd been.

I felt so… happy within his confines, surrounded by all things Edward.

* * *

Alice calls the gallery one Tuesday afternoon as Rose and I are in the office shuffling papers and trying to make sense of a pile of invoices and receipts that we've both been ignoring. Rose answers, and I hear just the one side of the conversation.

"What? Alice, slow down."

I perk up and stop what I'm doing, a sudden panic for Alice's safety flooding me.

"Who listens to the radio anymore? I don't even know what station that is." Rose narrows her eyes and looks at me, equally confused. "Okay, okay. Hold on. Bella - turn the radio on to 91.5."

I do as she says and we listen at Alice's instruction that they're going to repeat the story she wants us to hear. After news of Israel, a Himalayan project, and the current whereabouts of the British royals, I hear Alice squeal through the phone.

"_In cultural news, the reappearance of a painting from one of the most famous art heists of all time is lighting the art world on fire. _The Concert _by Johannes Vermeer, missing since 1990, appeared Monday morning at the offices at the _Association for Research in the Crimes against Art_, or_ ARCA_, in Rome, Italy. Videotape surveillance was disrupted around midnight, suggesting the perpetrators deposited the priceless artwork sometime in the early hours. _The Concert, _arguably the most valuable piece of stolen art ever recovered, went missing after a burglary at the _Isabella Steward Gardner Museum_ in Boston. No suspects were ever questioned. Aro Venti, Chief Executive Officer of ARCA, had this to say."_

Rose and I stare at each other wide-eyed as her father's voice plays out over the speakers. _"It's a glorious day for the art community. While the search for the people responsible continues, we are grateful to have such a masterpiece back into the hands of the public, for all the world to see."_

The newscaster continues, _"Aro Venti then said the plan is to have a brief showing in Rome's _Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna_, until it __eventually returns to Boston once the proper security measures have been met."_

The news moves on to another story and I turn the radio off. "Yes, Alice. It's quite the coup for my father. Okay, I'll talk to you later." Rose hangs up and shakes her head. "I can't think of a less deserving man than that prick to get the glory in _The Concert_ being recovered. I mean, seriously. It was probably him that had it all along, anyway! Bella… Bella? Are you all right? You're as white as a ghost." Rose taps her elbow into my arm. "What is it?"

I shake my head back and forth, trying to comprehend what I just heard. My heart is racing, my hands clammy as Rose pulls harder on my arm, suddenly alarmed. "You're scaring me, what's the matter?"

Finally I bring my wide eyes to her scared ones, which are staring at me, confused. "Edward."

"Edward?"

"Oh God, Edward. Edward had the Vermeer." I snap to attention and leap to my desk, grabbing my phone and cursing as my fumbling fingers pull up every application but the damn text icon. Finally, I get to his name and type quickly.

_What is going on?_

I hold my breath waiting for a reply, all the while Rose is in my periphery, badgering me. Finally, the phone chimes in my hand.

_Check your email. Most likely the spam folder._

I sit quickly and refresh my screen, Rose hanging over my shoulder and grabbing my phone. "Email?" she asks distractedly, watching me scroll through various junk advertisements until I see an email from an unfamiliar name with the subject 'Protection'.

Rose nods when I look at her, and together we watch as a video starts playing. I can't make out what it is at first, just an image slowly coming into focus as the person making the video walks backwards from whatever the subject is. After a few seconds, I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as I see _The Concert_ hanging on a wall that is not Edward's. The camera keeps moving back, slowly panning around the room and focusing on a photograph set on a shelf.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rose mutters and leans in closer. There, in an ornate, silver frame, is Aro Venti's latest wedding photo. "It's my father's home library."

We continue to watch as the camera keeps moving, through the house and out the front doors all in one motion, where it swings to get a wide angle shot of the entire house. There is no denying that painting is hanging on a wall inside the head of ARCA's goddamn home.

I fumble for my phone and type with shaky fingers.

_Oh my God._

It takes a few minutes, but a reply comes through.

_Erase that email, I'm unreachable for a while._

I think about the large object M was moving the night I found them in Edward's kitchen. This is what he was doing the night Charlie spoke.

Edward is giving up his most prized possession to ensure the safety of Rose, Alice, and me, so that we have peace of mind that Irina and Aro will never come after us, turning on us and giving us up.

He's bought us the best insurance anyone ever could.

* * *

The next few days are blurry, Rose and I follow the story of the recovered masterpiece until it becomes old news. I'm anxious to try and reach Edward since I haven't heard from him after his last text, but he made it clear he was going to be unavailable, mostly likely taking time to fall off the grid for a while as security.

It's painfully hard to wait, but Edward has gone radio silent and I have to respect that, after what he's done.

I sit at my desk one morning, my thumb hovering over the keypad of my phone. I feel like caving, dying to contact him, hoping to just hear _something_ from him in return. Rose gives me the side eye when she asks for the fiftieth time if I've developed feelings for Edward, and I brush her off, sticking to my story that it was just a fling. I know she sees right through me, but I don't budge. The thought of having to admit it out loud will only make the surprising and ever-expanding hole inside me real.

When she marches over and plucks my phone out of my palm, mumbling curse words under her breath, my protests fall on deaf ears, and I watch horrified as she types something before handing it back to me. On the screen, sent to Edward is a short statement, a '_hey, how's it going'_. It's simple, non-emotional, but I hold my breath in anticipation anyway.

A few hours later she looks at me with pity and apologizes for interfering when I show her my phone.

_Good_ is all it says.

* * *

Over sandwiches as we sit on the gallery floor, prepping for the Millet instillation that is finally arriving, she snaps, my mopey attitude at an all time high. "That's it, Bella. I'm sick of you acting like someone killed your puppy. Why don't you tell him how you feel?"

My mouth opens to argue, but instead, betrays me. "It's been a month and a half, Rose. If he wanted me, I have no doubt he'd have let me know. The man is not shy." I can't bring myself to reach out to him again, not wanting him to know just how much I'm waiting for him. It feels like it would be admitting defeat to the one man that has defeated me.

"It's possible he's thinking the same thing about you."

I make a scoffing, disbelieving sound. "Edward goes for what he wants. I'm obviously not on the list. He said he'd be unreachable, so… that's a hint if ever I heard one."

Rose shakes her head and rolls her paper wrapper up, depositing it in the lunch bag. "Stupid." I watch as she gets up and brushes her hands across her jeans. "I never knew you to be a pussy, Bella Swan."

"It's for the best anyway."

"How do you figure?" She stands over me, hands on hips. "Enlighten me."

I raise my hand, holding my fingers up one at a time. "Uh, for one, he lives in France and I live here, two, he's from a completely different world than me, and three…"

"Bullshit," Rose interrupts. "It's the same bullshit you've been telling yourself for a damn month."

"It's not bullshit. It's fact. We lead completely incompatible lives." I shuffle my half eaten sandwich into the garbage bag with more force than necessary. "We make a great fanfiction plot on paper, but in the real world, it's a farce."

She turns on her heel towards the ladder propped up against the wall and calls over her shoulder. "I still stick to my original assessment of you both. Stupid." The paper bag misses her as I throw it at her back.

It occurs to me as I watch the bag skitter across the floor before it rests that she said both. Her assessment of us _both_. "Have you heard from him?" I screech, in disbelief.

She looks to me and turns back to the ladder quickly as she ascends the metal rungs. "It was a generality; I'm assuming he's as stupid as you."

I scowl, and hope she doesn't turn around again as I check my phone. Despondency overcomes me when I pick it up only to see what's been in front of me all week.

An empty screen. No missed calls. No texts.

* * *

It's the opening night for the Millet exhibit, and we're filled to capacity. Cocktails are flowing and food is being consumed, art thoroughly discussed and examined.

The acoustics of the gallery make the noise level peak at an all-time high, and I see a strong headache in my future. I've imbibed in my fair share of martinis, letting Riley distract me with gossip, pointing out who he claims should just come out of the closet already and making a game of figuring out who is cheating on their spouse. It feels good to laugh with him, and for the first time in many weeks, I'm not obsessing, not mourning something that never was. I chat with a few eligible men, practicing my rusty flirtation methods, and even though I have a few ask, I decline any invitations. I'm just getting back to being Bella Swan, strong independent female, and I'm not ready to jeopardize that again.

I tell myself that lie repeatedly as I look around the room throughout the evening, denying to myself that I'm looking for a certain blue-eyed, green-eyed, mythical creature in the faces that surround me.

I don't want to admit that there is a part of me that hoped earlier in the night that he might show; interested in seeing the Millet only he would know was a forgery. A secret we could share. But the end of the party is coming closer, and he hasn't appeared. I justify this as being a good thing, because if he did show without warning that would mean he didn't care enough to tell me himself he'd be in attendance, which would truly break me.

I'm cleaning up some glasses, making myself useful even though the catering company has a crew to do such things when Rose latches the door, locking the gallery and proclaiming the event over.

The workers voices carry across the space, communicating orders and sharing some levity now that the gallery is devoid of guests. Rose's heels make a loud clatter as she walks briskly to me, the high of the evening evident on her face.

"Great show, Rose. It'll go down as a huge success in Sunday's paper." I raise my hand to slap hers.

"It really was, wasn't it?" She smiles brightly, draining the glass of champagne she's holding before placing it on the table in front of her. "I definitely think we drew some new blood. Some new, extremely wealthy blood."

"Fantastic." I smile back at her, happy the show seems to have accomplished what it was intended to do, gain new benefactors and clients.

"We sold a few of the paintings that have been living in the second room all summer."

My eyes open wide. "That's great news! I know you've been itching to move them."

"Mmm." She nods emphatically, no doubt already working out in her mind what artist she'd like to showcase next. "Oh. That reminds me." She pulls a note out of her skirt pocket, folded in half. "The buyer wants them delivered soon, and I'd like one of us to represent The Hale, not leave it to shipping. Can you meet with them in the morning?"

"Sure thing." I take the paper, which I assume holds the buyer's phone number, and place it in my own pocket.

We take care of some of the things we don't want to rely on catering for, before Rose says she's had enough. "Let's leave Riley to the rest of this, shall we? What's the point of having minions if you don't use them?"

Throwing down the napkin I was using to wipe up some spilled liquid, I quickly agree. "Let me just grab my purse."

Once in the office, I grab my bag and take the paper out of my pocket. Unfolding the white sheet with shaky hands, I close my eyes briefly and breathe through my nose. I frown when the small bit of hope I reluctantly admit to holding blows away like the trail of smoke from an extinguished match.

The female name on the paper is not the male one I had secretly hoped for, not the one I'd foolishly thought would create some grandiose deception, in cahoots with Rose to sweep me off my feet once again.

It might not be in the way she means, but Rose is right.

I really am stupid.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Always an Edward** by LifeInTheSnow

Bella wants to say yes to kind, handsome Ed…but can't stop meeting Eddie for martini lunches. Eduardo just wonders why she's avoiding his yoga class. And who is this "Edward" leaving cryptic messages at work? A story about people and how they change.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The next morning I call the number Rose gave me and speak to a secretary, confirming the address and time for meeting our new client. The day couldn't be nicer; clear blue skies and zero humidity, with a pleasant breeze rustling the branches as I walk to my car.

Pulling out onto the road, I sigh, but begin the drive to the address I was given, towards the lake. I haven't been near water since I left Saint-Tropez, but an office with a lake view on such a beautiful day isn't the worst place to have to meet someone, so I roll the windows down and turn the radio up.

Eventually, I pull onto the street where my destination lies, only to see I'm surrounded by a marina. Thoughts of Edward's port in Saint-Tropez surface, naturally, and I bite down the sudden longing and bitterness I feel. Hopefully this meeting will be quick, and I can get to the gallery to erase it all from my mind. Besides, if the woman is making me meet her here, she's probably anxious to get out on the water and send me on my way.

I pull my car into a spot near the harbor office and begin to walk across the blacktop when I'm stopped by a woman exiting the building.

"Ms. Swan?" The older woman is dressed casually, and she has a sunny smile on her face. "I'm Natalie."

"Yes, nice to meet you." I extend my hand towards her and smile warmly. "You must be very excited to make arrangements for the pieces you bought, they're absolutely stunning. Thank you for choosing the Hale."

Natalie laughs. "Oh, I'm sorry, you're mistaken. I'm not the person you're here to meet." To my surprise, she starts to lead me towards the pier instead of the offices. "Please, follow me; your meeting is taking place on your client's boat."

I grimace slightly, looking down at my heels and short skirt. "I wish I'd known, I'd have worn something more suitable." I hope my voice doesn't betray my irritation, but Natalie just apologizes and continues to lead me down the weathered wood planks.

A seagull squawks as we approach a white fishing boat, its body listing in the water and butting softly up against the mooring. This rig is more Charlie's speed than Edward's so I relax at the sight of the modest vessel and plant a smile on my face as she stops in front of the gangway. I'm about to take a rocky step onto the metal ramp when a manly voice assaults my senses, causing me to hold onto the railing so I don't pitch head first into the water as I stumble.

"Bella."

The joy coursing through me when I hear my name fall from his lips is second only to hearing it come from Charlie's, and I stand stunned, watching as Edward comes out from the galley, hands in his pockets as usual and an unsure expression on his face.

"Edward?" His name falls off my lips as I stare at him in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe we had a meeting at ten-thirty, was I mistaken?" A slow smirk starts, taking any nervousness he'd just shown and replacing it with the smug arrogance that's utterly more familiar.

"You bought Rose's paintings last night?"

He ducks his head a bit as he walks towards the edge of the ramp that I still only have one foot on. "Yes, but it was really just an excuse to get you here."

Feelings war within me. Despite the strong urge I have to thank him profusely for what he did in Italy, I can't help but be mad. Mad at him for disappearing, mad at the despondency he caused, mad at myself for the last few weeks of me pining after someone that can be such a first class jerk.

I remove my foot and back away from the boat. "Can't you ever do anything like a normal person?" I fume; incredulous that he would just show up like this and think I have nothing better to do than fall at his feet. "You couldn't even call to tell me you were in town?" I think about the night before, hoping he'd show, believing he was thousands of miles away when he was actually within shouting distance. "Some of us have to work for real, you know." I huff under my breath and shake my head. "More games."

"This isn't like it's not a legitimate meeting; I do need to arrange shipping on what I bought."

I look out over the water, trying to unscramble my jumbled emotions. Collecting myself, I take a deep breath, and remember why I'm here.

"Fine. Let's make the arrangements. I'm sure you're anxious to get out on the water. This won't take but ten minutes." I turn, and head towards the building. "Let's see if we can use some space in here."

"Tell me, are they nice?" He asks, stopping me in my tracks.

Turning, my eyes narrow. "You never even saw them?"

"Nope. But if the Hale was showing them, I have no doubt they're acceptable."

Abruptly it hits me, and I have a second person in which to direct my anger. "Rose knew, didn't she," I state, the answer obvious.

"Well, you can't very well plan something like this without having a partner, sort of like a heist," he laughs.

I swallow, not laughing at his remark, suddenly feeling vulnerable in light of the banter he's trying to recapture. "Why, Edward? Why are you here?"

He shakes his head like I've just asked a stupid question and smiles the most earth shattering kind of smile. "For you, of course."

My heart leaps from my chest at his words, hope fighting with irritation, but before I can say anything, Edward begins to walk down the ramp towards me, his hand outstretched. "Please, join me."

I look at his hand and back to him without taking it. "I can manage." He tucks his hand in his pocket at my refusal and nods his head.

Walking on a moving boat in heels isn't quite my forte, but I hold my head high as I step onto the deck. It's small, a fishing boat, and I wish I'd caught the name of it before I got on, to try and ascertain if he really owns it. I walk to the center of the deck, ready to get this over with.

"Shall we get to it? Where would you like the paintings delivered? France? Or perhaps Cape Town? Maybe to Costa Rica or the Caymans, wherever your fancy has taken you?" I smirk with a bitter taste on my lips, so much of his past months are unknown to me.

Intending to gather the paperwork needed, I place my bag on the table, efficiently turning my back on him. Silence follows and I wonder if he's watching me, when suddenly the boat rumbles under my feet and movement forces me to reach out to hold onto the table. "Hey!" Looking up towards the dock, I see it starting to drift away as Edward is leading us out onto the lake. "I didn't agree on a boat ride!"

"Just enjoy it. It's a beautiful day," Edward calls over his shoulder from where he stands at the controls and eases the throttle up.

"You have no right-"

"Bella," he turns to look at me and cuts me off. "We parted on friendly terms. I'm sorry that life got a bit away from me the last few weeks, but as far as I know, there's no bad blood between us."

My eyes bug out as I look at him. "Got a bit away?" I repeat and bite my tongue from saying any more, unwilling to show him the bottled up emotions I've let churn inside me since he sent that last, curt text. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hoping the air and water will work its magic as it usually does, filling me with a calming influence while I think.

Not hearing from him hurt more than I'd ever admit, but I can't forget he gave up his most valuable possession to ensure my safety. Surely that has to mean something. I fight with myself internally, is there really anything I'd rather be doing today than spending it with him? I can't lie and say no to my own question but I'll be damned if I'm going to let him think that.

"Fine. A quick ride, it is a lovely day and I'd hate to waste the last bit of good weather."

"Right. Let's not waste the weather conditions," he laughs, knowing I'm full of shit. "Why don't you have a seat before you fall over?"

Sitting sounds like a pretty good idea, as my heels are making me wobbly, inhibiting my need to look unruffled, so I make it over to where he is and hold onto the captain's chair he's standing next to. He looks at me quickly and smiles, before looking back over the bow.

Memories flood me as I observe him under the sun after so much time apart, his beauty leaving me breathless like it's the first time all over again. His sleeves are pushed up to show those veins I love so much as he navigates, his arms shifting and rolling with the wheel. My eyes rake up the tattoos I once knew intimately, and notice a new splash of color on his forearm. They widen at what I think I'm seeing. "Edward, is that…?" He looks at me and then follows where my astonished gaze has landed.

He nods once. "It's the Hale."

"Why?" My mouth is suddenly dry.

"I've got a lot to tell you, Bella, but let's get where we're going first."

"I thought we were just going for a boat ride."

"There's something I want to show you." He increases our speed and we fall silent as he cruises along the Gold Coast, following the shoreline south. I hold my breath when I see Navy Pier approaching in the distance, the tall Lake Shore Tower building slowly appearing as the recollection of our dinner and baseball game date run through my mind.

I doubt he'd take me back there, but soon enough, he navigates us through the locks and pulls the boat up smoothly against the south side of the pier, the shadow of the formidable building across East Illinois Street looming large.

"Is this a booty call?" I suddenly yelp, unable to mask my nerves any longer.

"A what?" He stares at me like I have three heads. "Jesus, Bella. If I wanted to get laid I would have docked us out in the middle of the lake." A wave of nausea coils in my stomach as I watch him turn the engine off and pocket the keys.

"I can't. Not again," I blurt, an unexpected tinge of sadness in my tone. Edward's sharp inhale lets me know we both know I'm talking about so much more than just following him to his fake apartment. Coming back to this place stings, the knowledge that the last time I was here I was still a means to get what he wanted, regardless if that had changed at all in France. "You show up out of nowhere..." my voice falters, all the hurt I'd been suppressing at not hearing from him coming to the surface. I lower my voice, barely able to get the words out. "You show up out of nowhere."

I hear Edward sigh, and I turn slightly when I see he's reaching for me. I cross my arms in front of me, effectively blocking him off.

Edward looks at me, and I can tell he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Bella, I want to show you something. Trust me," he pleads again gently, and I shake my head. His colorful eyes suddenly look slightly sad, less sure. "You did once."

Pain sears my heart, along with a little bit of hope of my own, the despondency in his own doubt acting as glue on the tear within I hadn't realized had grown larger in the last few weeks. "I did."

"I promise." He reaches a hand out. "I'm still that guy."

The look on his face is as sincere as the day he revealed all to me, it's unmistakable. Wanting nothing more than to fall back to where we were before I left him so suddenly, I soften. He's right, of course, he promised me nothing, and I left _him._ We had no ill feelings towards each other, but one thing continues to nag at me.

"Your last text. It was… very short." _And cut me to the bone._ "And then nothing."

Edward sighs as his shoulders sag, but the look in his eyes is fiery. "And yours was flippant." I think back to the light-hearted, casual text Rose sent from my phone.

I nod, knowing we're both stubborn. His eyes stay focused on mine as I stare at him, drowning in the presence of the person I've been dreaming of for weeks. "What you did, Edward, what you gave up, you love that painting."

"I told you I'd never let anything happen to you. I meant it."

"Thank you." The words don't seem big enough and I let my anger ebb, finally allowing myself to admit that I'm nothing but ecstatic he's here, no matter for how long. I feel my mouth turning up into a smirk, my head nodding towards the building. "I already know you can't find a corkscrew in your kitchen. Want me to try and find the towels for you?"

A flash of what looks like relief crosses his features. "Yes, and I've misplaced the dish soap." Edward ties us off onto the metal cleat and jumps out, holding his hand towards me once again, which this time I take gladly to navigate onto the cement dock.

He doesn't let go, and I don't resist when he pulls me into a waiting car that drives us to the building where we come to a stop in the atrium moments later. Upon entering, the same doorman that was there the first time greets Edward by name and smiles at me, and we follow the familiar path towards the left bank of elevators.

The ride up is charged, our hands are still joined, and I'm sure he can feel my pulse racing through his flesh. We catch each other a few times glancing at the other which he grins at while rubbing his thumb along mine. The touch is innocent, a soft swipe back and forth, but it only adds to the anticipation that being in the presence of Edward has always brought forth in me.

We walk towards the same door at the end of the hall, and it suddenly occurs to me he's alone. "No M? No J?"

He punches in the code to unlock the door and shakes his head 'no', but says nothing else.

Ushering me in, he lets me go so he can close the door and I take a few steps forward. The apartment is the same but entirely different.

The first thing I notice is the pile of shoes next to the foyer table, sneakers and flip flops, oxfords and slippers. My eyes quickly look around, noticing Edward everywhere. Real paintings hang on the walls; truly fabulous pieces that stand out against the once stark surroundings. Two baseball hats lie on the coffee table that's now dotted with mail, a newspaper, a coffee mug. Take out containers and dirty dishes cover some of the counter space in the kitchen as I walk past, making my way towards the once barren shelves that now hold photos of a handsome couple with a young boy, then three young boys, while other photographs show the boys aging, two in uniform and one in a cap and gown.

"Edward, I don't understand."

"I've been here a while."

My head snaps up in surprise, and slight anger. "And you just decided to let me know now?"

"I wanted to see you, but I had some things to do."

Somewhat dejected, I sigh. "Go home, Edward. Go back to France; go back to your life. You don't need to feel obligated to visit me. I'm fine."

"You think that's what this is? A pity visit?"

"If Rose said I was all moody or something don't listen to her, she's insane. And apparently a rat bastard."

Another bubble of laughter escapes him. "I _am_ home, Bella. I'm here to stay." I stare at him, my eyes wide as he glances around the apartment. "I guess I was hoping you'd like the idea. I'm sorry about the mess; I haven't found someone yet to take care of things."

"What about Saint-Tropez?" I ask, hope rising slowly within me like a roller coaster about to crest the big hill.

"I still own that house, I'll visit." He looks back at me. "We'll visit."

"There's a 'we'?'" I ask, suddenly out of breath as the roller coaster soaring within me reaches the top.

"I need to be where you are Bella. And right now, that's here."

The rollercoaster soars down the other side, making me scream silently with exhilaration. "You moved here for me?"

Edward slowly raises a hand towards my neck, his fingers stroking gently. "I love you. I've loved you since you licked caviar off my fingers," he smiles, and moves to take me into his arms.

My head is swimming, swirling with all of this information, keeping time with my rapidly beating heart. "M and J?"

"They're here too, staying down the hall for now. We've got a new partnership to set up."

"Let me guess."

"Your operation now has its own private plane, security, and my extensive network at its fingertips, and we have the Hale and Alice to use when we need. I'd say Irina is out of business," he chuckles.

I think about what this new relationship will mean for all of us and recall the conversation I had with Rose in the gallery when she'd called both Edward and I stupid. I groan. "You've been talking to her about me all along, haven't you, not just about business?"

He narrows his eyes as his hands rub up and down my back. "She called me stupid," he says incredulously.

I huff, "Me too."

"But she was right; I was stupid, thinking you meant it when you said all we were was a week. It took a while for me to realize that."

"But why did I stop hearing from you?"

"Eventually, getting little from you was more painful than getting nothing. If you were hurting after we said goodbye, why do you think I wasn't? When Rose finally made me see that you were feeling the same way I was, the first thing I had to do was finish up the school. I had to get that squared away so I could get back here to you, then I needed to settle in so I could show you I mean everything I'm saying. I needed to show you, I'm not just a week, Bella. I want it all. Tell me you don't love me." His eyes dart back and forth, the blue and the green searching for something in mine. "Tell me you don't want to have it all with me."

My body moves closer to his as he tightens his embrace around me. He leans his forehead against mine, his sweet lips mere inches from my own.

I can't wait any longer, my hands moving up to his face to pull him towards me. I press my lips to his with as much force as I can to show him he's got it all. I pull back slightly, and look up at him. "I've loved you since I licked caviar off your fingers."

He kisses me fully then, his arms pulling me against him completely, his mouth moving across mine with urgency. I pull away and tuck my head under his, and we stand like that for a moment. My cheek is pressed against him, hearing his heart beating in rhythm with mine.

"I can't believe you're moving for me. That's what that tattoo of the Hale is for?"

"The places I've been that mean the most to me. I met you there. Moving here is the easiest decision I've ever made."

My heart is full to bursting, but I can't help but tease him. "How'd you know it would work out in your favor?" It feels so good to slip back into our familiar roles.

Edward rocks us back and forth. "Oh Bella, Bella, Bella. I thought you'd learned by now, silly girl."

"And what would that be?" I ask, mock insulted.

He looks at me, his sexy, arrogant smirk firmly in place. "I always get what I want."

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_**Small epi to follow!**_

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Hello Beautiful by SoapyMayhem**

COMPLETE - Bella Swan-Cullen has always thought her stepfather was a handsome man. What happens when that small spark of attraction ignites? It's not just Bella that stands to get burned. Her secret attraction could tear her family apart! - Bella/Edward Drabble See Disclaimer Inside

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_**As always, thank you to my brilliant beta Carrie ZM, and my fabulous pre-reader LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Reviews make me happy!**_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

_One Year Later_

I pull the throttle back gently, easing us towards the dock as Charlie finishes the last of the one beer Otis allows on our frequent fishing trips. He always waits until he's caught something, the celebratory gesture an old habit.

"Good day," Charlie says easily, looking up at the sun, and although hearing him speak is a daily occurrence, it doesn't make my heart leap and my eyes well up any less.

"It really was," I agree, and notice M on the dock, hands on hips, waiting to help me tie the boat. We butt against the planks and Otis throws the rope out before readying Charlie for disembarking.

"How'd you do today, C?" M asks as he jumps aboard, grabbing Charlie's gear as Otis unhooks the wheelchair from the safety locks Edward had custom installed on our new boat, the _Manoeuveres Astucieuses II._

"Four rainbow trout and a walleye," Charlie says slowly, while M just waits and lets him take his time.

"How'd _you_ do, B?" M turns my way and I frown. "That good, huh?" he laughs. "C, you keep beating her like we discussed, and I'll break you out of here for a nice steak dinner." I swat M on the arm and he high fives Charlie, before turning back to me with a nod towards the house."E's waiting for you inside."

"When are you leaving?"

"An hour or so." M moves to pile the fishing gear on the dock and I lower the ramp for Otis, who wheels Charlie off the boat. "You go on, I'll help O."

"Thanks, M." I call out and hurry off the boat, anxious to have as much time with Edward as possible before he's gone for a week on business in Spain. I walk swiftly up the numerous steps that lead to the house, running perpendicular to the lengthy wheelchair lift Edward had installed as soon as we bought the ridiculously large house in Highland Park.

I wave at Alice as she moves her brushes over the canvas, looking at the water pretending to paint our landscape, but I suspect she's really painting the blond man that lounges at her feet. J looks up as I stroll past and smiles, his attention quickly returning to the girl he moved in with within weeks of meeting. The arrangement works out well, J doesn't seem to miss having his own home and I like the idea of Alice being protected at the studio which she has no desire to move out of.

Upon Edward's permanent relocation to Chicago, things moved quickly for most of us. Edward and I started house shopping, with Edward insisting we find a place big enough where Charlie would have his own area, complete with physical therapy equipment, hospital amenities, and live in quarters for Otis, who couldn't turn down Edward's substantial salary even if he wanted to, which he didn't. The thought of continuing Charlie's care was foremost in his mind, and between Otis and the specialists that come to work with my father weekly, Charlie has made huge strides in his recovery. He'll never be the man he was, but moving him in with us has had a positive effect on both of us. I get to see him daily, and he gets to sit by the water, fish, and feel like he's living life once again.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, I look back at the dock, watching how good and caring M is with Charlie. Our friendship has grown into a tight one, and my grin widens, knowing that he'll eventually break Rose, who is fighting his relentless pursuit of her. I think back to when she called Edward and me stupid for not admitting our feelings to one another, and I can't wait for the day when I can relay that back to her when she finally caves. If the way she watches him when she thinks no one is looking is any indication, I'll be able to utter that phrase to her soon.

After kicking off my shoes onto the top of the backdoor pile, I don't even have to call out to find Edward and head directly to the elevator and inserting my code that will take me to the bottom floor, two stories below the ground.

The lift descends slowly, and I jump a little in place, anxious to get to him. Any time we have to spend apart has always been awful, but this will be the first trip he's had to take without me since we married. Rose and I have a big show coming up, and even though Riley has taken on more responsibility, allowing me to work less now that I'm expecting, I still try to do as much as I can.

I reach the open metal door and my breath hitches at the sight of Edward, surrounded by his second love after me. The thrill that shoots up my spine at the sight of his art is something that will never get old, nor will the sight of him, period. My heart thumps in my chest as it has from the start, and it's almost like he can hear it because he turns his chair to face me even though my bare feet haven't made a sound.

"Did Charlie have a good day?" He smiles and opens his arms, my body instinctively heating as I straddle him.

I nod, pressing my head into the crook of his neck as he strokes one hand up and down my back while the other falls against my expanding stomach. "Do you have to go?" I ask, whining playfully.

"If I could put off this meeting, I would. I hate leaving you."

"Soon I won't let you. International playboy is about to become homebound daddy."

He laughs and kisses my head. "I can't wait." We sit like that for a little while, until he reminds me he has to finish packing.

Regretfully, we leave the vault, securing the door and riding the elevator to the fourth floor, where our rooms are. I sit on the bed as I watch him carefully fold his clothes, only to have to refold them as I pull them out one by one.

"I'm going to have to punish you, young lady, if you keep that up."

"Promises, promises."

His eyes light with fire, and I yelp as he leaps towards me, careful to land on the bed next to me and not on top of me. His mouth is on mine and I throw my arms around him before he quickly turns me onto my side and begins to pull my stretchy pants down my legs while fumbling behind me to free himself. It doesn't take much for me to get worked up lately, I seem to have a constant need for him and he slips inside easily, pressing himself up against my back as we both call out at the feeling of him filling me. He lifts my leg up slightly to change my angle, and begins to pump his body inside mine. I'm like a ticking time bomb, and all it takes is for a few thrusts and his rough fingers working me over until I'm shouting out, pulling at his hair as his head rests on my shoulder, his body moving faster behind me until he slams himself hard against me, moaning his release into my ear, hot and breathy.

"I love you, Mrs. Cullen."

I stretch like a cat as he pulls himself out of me. "Don't you mean Mrs. Cullen Masen Black?"

"That's going to be quite the mouthful for Junior, there." Edward swats my ass as he gets off the bed and heads into the bathroom. "Can I trust you not to unpack my stuff now that I've satiated you?"

"Who says you did that?" I protest, as he shoots me a look before ducking into the shower. I contemplate joining him but don't feel like getting up. I rub my stomach, smiling at what life and a year since I've met Edward has brought me.

I watch Edward finish packing until M's voice calls out over the intercom that it's time to go, J has pulled the car around.

"You'll be okay?" he says as he leans down to kiss me, and I hum against his lips. "Alice is going to stay with me until you all get back, and Rose is coming for dinner."

He kisses me once more and I roll over onto my side as much as it will allow, watching him turn to go.

Just as he reaches the door, I see he's failed to repack something I pulled out. I grab it quick and call out to him.

"Oh sweetheart," I swing the black ski mask around my finger, "you forgot your hat."

_**THE END**_

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**Well, that's it kids. It's been great fun for me, reading your thoughts, guesses, frustrations and shouty caps! **

**And now, for the very serious, always mortifying, rambling and chaotic A/N:**

**First things first: you guys are awesome. Thanks to you, I have an audience. If you didn't read and tweet and FB and review, this would be sitting in cyberspace somewhere as a little bit of nothing. I don't take any of you, or the time you give my silly thoughts, for granted.**

**Next, put your hands together for Lolypop82 for that fuckawesome banner! Wow! I couldn't have conveyed what I wanted, or had it executed so flawlessly, without her. Thanks, babe!**

**LayAtHomeMom is one of a kind, ladies. Laugh out loud gifs as comments, hand holding, and an always critical eye that I wouldn't be able to work without now. Nope, just can't imagine posting anything without her input. She always makes me strive for better, and get the logistics of Chicago correct. I heart you hard, Pal. Thank you.**

**And finally, to my always patient, funny, and kick ass beta, Carrie ZM. She held me up this go around when I was struggling so hard to bring this to you. She's the one that kept telling me to just MAKE it fun, DO something fun, HAVE fun. Not everything needs be reinventing the wheel. You are my rock and best friend. It's that simple. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for guiding me through this, and the real life hits I took these last few months. I love you so much, if I could, I would insert pizza confetti, weird balding men emoticons, and that weird bunny in a martini glass you love to use right here to show you. Also, you're the best manager a girl could ask for ;) HAHA**

**I will see you beautiful people around! **


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